


The Murder Monologues

by ashilrak, TheInevitableSense



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr murders people to cope with his feelings, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Burr has a lot of feelings, Asexual Relationship, Kitchen gremlin Bellamy, M/M, Multi, Murder, One-sided Jonathan Bellamy/Aaron Burr, awkward trio refuses to face feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 79,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInevitableSense/pseuds/TheInevitableSense
Summary: Stress came in many forms: work, pesky roommates, opinionated best friends, and attractive coworkers.Similarly, stress relief also came in many forms: knitting, music, cooking;Strangling people in their own homes.To each their own.





	1. Catherine Sands

The end of the work day, in Aaron Burr’s experience, meant two things: it was time for one last cup of coffee and to collect himself before running errands. It also meant that he was going to run into Thomas Jefferson one last time, but that was neither here nor there. So what if, as the clock neared six, he counted the tics of the second hand until the moment he’d get to see Thomas’ smile. It was the simple joys in life, after all.

He watched as his computer screen faded to black, and savored the stretch as he rolled his shoulders. Aaron always made sure to maintain proper posture. A straight back and shoulders made him look taller and more put together, subtle details that could attract positive attention - not that Aaron was looking to spark anyone’s interest. But a good first impression always mattered.

Aaron carefully arranged his files properly, shut off his light and locked the door behind him. The hallway was empty, Aaron was one of the few people who left the building this early. The dozens of other lawyers, paralegals and interns that work at the New York district attorney’s office are all still shut away, working overtime on whatever case they’ve been assigned. 

He turned the corner into the break room, the slight worry that there’d be someone else there dissipating when he saw only the familiar figure of Thomas Jefferson. Aaron felt the corner of his mouth raise in a small smile as he stepped further into the room. Thomas was leaning against the counter, steaming cup of coffee in hand. The color of Thomas’ suit should have hurt Aaron’s eyes, but somehow it just filled him with affection. Aaron would have to deal with that later.

The coffee was fresh - most likely Hamilton’s doing - and he eyed the pile of empty sugar wrappers sitting on the counter next to Thomas as he poured the coffee into his own travel mug. For a moment, he thought Thomas was just going to stand there in silence, and an odd sense of disappointment wiggled in his brain. Aaron watched his mug fill, dark liquid sloshing-

“Hamilton hasn’t shut up about the Weeks case,” Thomas said suddenly. Aaron’s hand jerked slightly, but managed not to spill anything. Without waiting for Aaron’s response, Thomas kept talking. “Anytime I walk into a room, I swear he’s made it his mission to annoy me and make sure I memorize every single details about his courtroom adventures.”

Aaron snorted and set the coffee pot down. “Is that a surprise?” 

“No,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “But, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Fair enough.” Aaron fastened to lid to his to-go cup and stared at Thomas, something within him wishing he was clever enough to come up with something to keep Thomas’ attention. Quick words were Hamilton’s forte, he’d always been the type to take too long thinking up something to say. “The trick with Hamilton is to appear as if you’re listening.”

Thomas raised a brow. “Is that how you’ve managed it?”

“Practice makes perfect.” 

He took a sip of his coffee, wincing as the hot liquid burned his tongue. Thomas laughed. “Too hot? Don’t worry, I did the same thing.”

Thomas hadn’t taken a single sip since he walked into the room. Aaron nodded. “I should know better by now.” He clutched his mug in one hand, not caring about the heat radiating into his hand, as he tried to think if there was anything else he could say. Thomas let out a breath, mindlessly playing with an empty sugar packet.

“Heading out early tonight?” Thomas asked. Aaron glanced at the clock- ten past six.

“The work day’s over at five, technically,” Aaron pointed out.

“It rarely is in practice though.”

Aaron shrugged. “I’m out of things to do for the day.” Thomas glanced down into his open coffee cup.

“Fair enough,” he said. Silence descended again, Thomas drumming his fingers against the counter. Aaron coughed, feeling the time slip away.

“I’ve got to get going,” Aaron said. “Traffic and all that.” Thomas started.

“Right, yeah,” he said, starting to sweep his trash down the countertop to the trash can. “You don’t want to get caught in city traffic.” Aaron nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the counter. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow,” Aaron replied. Thomas shot him a smile as Aaron left, one of those blinding ones that never failed to knock the wind out of Aaron. He turned on his heel and held the coffee close to his chest, trying to force logic against the fluttering in his chest. Thomas was just another one of his coworkers, second only to Hamilton in terms of how obnoxious he could be.

No, Thomas wasn’t anyone worth getting flustered over. Aaron pushed open the glass doors and exited onto the street, trying to leave any and all thoughts of Tho- Jefferson behind. He needed to focus on what was important. Aaron made his way down the sidewalk, dress shoes clicking against the concrete.

He made his way past stores and restaurants, walking with the pulsing crowd of people just trying to get home. A young couple kissed outside of a Taxi, and Aaron imagined him in the young man’s position for just a second, wondering what it would be like to have someone to call his own. He shook his head and willed the thought away, knowing it wasn’t his place to think on such things.

Walking alone in a crowd created an odd sense of isolation, one Aaron welcomed. It was the ultimate form of anonymity. Who ever paid any attention to a single man in a suit flowing with the mass of people around him? A suit was the ultimate form of armor against the world, an illusion of respectability Aaron had long ago learned to hide behind. A correctly worn tie could do more than a thousand words ever could.

He sipped at his coffee, watching the people move around him. People were so unobservant and dull, he thought. No one ever took time to appreciate the world around them. Aaron looked at the sign and turned down the street, eyes scanning the buildings around him. Shops turned into apartment blocks made of old brick and wrought-iron fences.

House numbers in cheap gold leaf shone under the evening light as Aaron made his way to the right front door. He downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, threw it into his bag and searched his pockets for his key. He came up empty, cursing himself as he realized he’d left it on his kitchen counter this morning. There was a rock on the front step, and under the rock was a spare key. Aaron kicked the rock aside, and grabbed his gloves from his bag, putting them on before picking up the key. He’d put it back before he left.

He pulled his bag closer to his body, adjusting where it sat on his shoulder and unlocked the door. He shut the door silently behind him and took a deep breath, the faint smell of what Aaron assumed to be Catherine Sands’ dinner filled the air. He took a careful step forward, and relaxed when the floor did not creak beneath his foot. There was the sound of a commercial playing, Catherine probably listening to music or watching tv as she waited for her meal to be ready.

Aaron bent down and placed his bag on the floor, pushing it against the wall out of the way. He grabbed his coat, hand hovering over the case holding his knives. Catherine was in her kitchen, there’d be no need to dirty his own tools. He stood up. The coat was heavy on his shoulders, but it suited his purposes well enough. 

The layout of Catherine’s home worked in his favor. He walked down the small hallway, hidden from her view. Excitement started to build in his chest, his fingers twitching at his sides. These were the moments when everything made sense, when his mind was a place of the utmost clarity. 

Catherine was humming to herself as she pulled the plastic dish out of the microwave, her back to him. A rack of kitchen knives sat on the counter, wonderfully open and situated between the two of them. Aaron couldn’t imagine a better set up even if he tried. He kept his footsteps light, silent as he crossed the wooden floor.

His gloved hand closed around the wooden handle of a large knife, testing the grip and weight of it. Aaron examined the blade under the kitchen lights. It would need to be sharpened; Catherine apparently had no appreciation for proper knife care. He set it down silently.

Less than two feet in front of him, Catherine continued on, mindless to his presence. People really were unobservant. He adjusted his gloves and pulled a second knife from the block. Better, but more of a paring knife than one he should use. He’d make do, he always did.

Catherine set the plastic tray down on counter and took a moment to stretch, arms reaching high into the air. If she turned even a fraction in the wrong direction Aaron would be caught, no doubt. But she just hummed along to her song, oblivious. Aaron rolled his shoulders, and with an ease born of practice, threw his arm around her and squeezed her throat in a vice-like grip.

Some people liked to take their time, let the victim have just enough time to breath as to gather their thoughts and spew their complaints and insults. Aaron exerted more pressure, grateful as Catherine continued to be the perfect victim in every way; gasping wordlessly rather than trying to shout for help. Her hands scrambled along his arms uselessly and Aaron could feel her strength leaving her fingers as the seconds passed.

He kept his eyes on the digital clock of the microwave. No doubt he could have let up earlier, her body going limp in his arms fairly quickly, but there was a routine and reason to all of his actions. There was an undeniable power that rushed through his limbs every time he took a life, and Aaron always relished those moments where he got to experience it. A unique sensation that he hadn’t found anywhere else, everything slotting into place for one perfect, harmonious moment. The fading of a heartbeat under his hands was something unmatched by any other feeling.

Catherine Sands was dead; a problem taken care of, an itch scratched. Aaron turned his head to stare at the knives he had set on the counter. It was a question of aesthetic. The larger knife would be easier, but bloodier. The sharper, smaller knife would result in finer lines, a clean cut rather than jagged edges. Aaron picked up the smaller knife. Catherine deserved that much for being so polite.

Carefully, as one might do with an antique rug, Aaron lowered Catherine’s rapidly cooling body to the floor. The smile asphyxiation etched onto her face made her grin almost maniacally, but Aaron knew he could make it better. He knelt down by her head, careful not to lean too far over her for fear of leaving any trace of himself behind, and hooked a gloved finger into her cheek.

There was something beautiful about youthful skin, the flexibility and smoothness of it allowing Aaron to have greater control over just where his knife cut. Starting at the lip and pushing downward, Aaron sliced through the newly dead flesh with expertise. The shape of her face suggested he stop about halfway through her cheek, which Aaron did, letting one side of Catherine’s face break into a larger smile.

He made short work of the other side, watching the blood well and drip onto the floor. She wouldn’t bleed for long - she was already dead after all - but Aaron’s gloves and coat sleeves were already stained dark red. A few flecks of blood had managed to find their way onto his chest, but not much more than a light splatter. When he was finished, he sat back and looked down at his handiwork.

Even with her alterations, Catherine’s smile had nothing on Thomas’. Hers was twisted, grim; a mask of death painted across average features. Thomas’ was as if sunshine itself had somehow been captured, hidden away only to be seen with a quirk of a lip.

Enough time had passed. Aaron set the knife to his side, bloody metal against the wooden floor that has somehow managed to stay clean. He stood up, circling his wrists to ease the stiffness that came with the care he took to keep the cuts clean. He took one last look around the kitchen, music still playing softly, the plastic tray of Catherine’s microwaved meal still sitting out. 

He turned around and exited the way he came. The small hallway was just as it had been when he walked in, and his bag was where he had left it. Aaron removed his coat and gloves, placing them into the plastic bags he had for this purpose. The plastic bags full of bloodied fabric were hidden away, and he pulled his bag back onto his shoulder. A quick look in the mirror showed him he looked exactly as he had before he arrived, the only thing missing was the creeping anxiety that had hounded him before. The door was open and shut silently, and the key returned to its hiding place beneath the rock. 

Catherine’s body would probably lie on that floor for a couple of hours before discovery, Aaron figured. More than enough time to make his way back downtown and immerse himself in the pulsing crowds of New York City again. He wove his way between the masses, knowing that no one would pay any attention to a single man in a nice suit on his way home.

It didn’t take him too long to find his way back to his own apartment building, walking the dozen or so blocks home with a slight spring to his step. The tension that had been plaguing him all day was gone. It was a pleasant evening, and as he neared his building, he heard the sound of children’s laughter coming down through an open window.

He wondered what Thomas was doing at this time of day. Perhaps he was still at the office? On his way home? Aaron shook his head, forcing the image of Thomas dancing in his kitchen to some classical piece out of his mind. It was ridiculous to think such things. Thomas was a co-worker, a man Aaron saw frequently enough that Thomas had started to infiltrate his daydreams. Thomas probably didn’t even dance.

Aaron walked into his building, taking a moment to absorb his surroundings of the dreary lobby. He bouncing on his toes, exactly once, and decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator, it would do him good to use up some of the remaining energy.

He didn’t run into anyone else in the stairwell. His bag was starting to weigh on his shoulders, and Aaron looked forward to setting it down as he fished for his key. This one he had, thank goodness, and he slipped into his apartment.

“Bells, I’m home,” he called out as he shut the door and kicked his shoes off. Aaron made the short journey to his room and set his bag down. He shrugged off his suit jacket, and placed it on the hangar waiting on his bed. He untied his tie and placed it next to the jacket. 

Bells was standing in the kitchen, hunched over some pan on the stove. Aaron sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and accepted the glass of water that was handed to him. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old.” Bells shot him a smile. “How was yours?”

Aaron shrugged. “Oh, you know.”

“Right, right.” Bells turned back to the stove. “I’m making pasta, nothing too fancy.”

His stomach chose that moment to growl. “That sounds great.”

Bells laughed. “I’m glad.”

Aaron took a sip of the water, and found himself to be aware of just how thirsty he was. He supposed physical activity did that to a person. “What kind of pasta?”

“I threw together a quick dough, so it’s not spinach like you like. But it’s just going to be fettuccine with alfredo.” Bells turned to look at him, “do you need more water?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Bells’ smile was almost as bright as Thomas’, and Aaron supposed that he should find it attractive, but he couldn’t. Where Thomas’ smile made Aaron’s stomach flip, Bell’s just didn’t. It was nice, felt almost like home, but not Thomas’ smile nice.

They fell into a comfortable silence, and soon a hot plate was placed in front of him. Aaron swirled some onto a fork. “This smells incredible, thank you.”

A slight blush creeped onto Bells’ face. “It’s no big deal. I like cooking for you.” 

He nodded, smiling, and took a bite. It really was good, just like usual. Bells sat next to him, knocking their elbows together. Aaron looked over at him. “You know, you really don’t have to do this all the time. I feel like you do so much.”

“Like I said,” Bells smiled, “no big deal.”

Aaron cleared his throat. “So, anything exciting happen at work?”

“I almost grabbed the blue instead of pink icing.” Bells shook his head. “That would have ended up with an angry bride, an angrier manager, and me barely hanging on to my job.”

He pulled out his phone and glanced over the recent news notifications. “I’m sure it would have looked great no matter what. You have an eye for that sort of thing”

If he hadn’t been looking at his phone, Aaron would have seen Bells perk up and smile wider than Aaron had ever seen. Instead, he heard Bells’ quiet “thank you” and continued to scroll.

A news story popped up at the top of Aaron’s phone. ‘Woman’s body found on the east end.’ 

Huh, that was faster than he thought.


	2. Samuel Seabury

“Have a good day at work,” Bells said, holding out the usual brown paper bag. Aaron rolled his eyes fondly and took it.

“Thanks Bells,” Aaron said. Bells smiled up at him, the same gap-toothed grin as always. “You too.” 

Bells took a step forward, leaning in and stopping in an aborted gesture. “Don’t forget your coffee.” The familiar to-go cup was shoved into Aaron’s hand, and he accepted it with a nod.

He shoved his lunch into his bag, threw his bag over his shoulder, and Aaron headed out the door, coffee in hand. Though not quite in the same high spirits as last night, Aaron still felt much calmer than this time yesterday. He never understood what defendants meant when they described the panic and the anxiety they felt after committing a crime. Aaron always found he felt much better after partaking in a rousing murder.

Perhaps that meant something wasn’t quite right with him, but Aaron chose not to think about it. If it worked, it worked. Other people used meditation or therapy to cope with their problems, why would using murder as his own coping mechanism be any different?

Besides the illegality of course, but consequences were avoidable if you knew what you were doing. Aaron hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder and turned into the building, curiosity about where the day would take him occupying his thoughts. He almost hoped the new Sands file would get assigned to him. It was always easier to manipulate the presentation of the data when he was the one doing the presenting.

Aaron took the last sip of his coffee, and made his way down the familiar hallways. The sounds of people already hard at work surrounded him as Aaron made his way to his office. He turned the corner and was immediately presented with Thomas Jefferson leaning up against his office door. He thought he should be annoyed - if it were anyone else blocking his way he would be - but Thomas and his damn fuchsia coat only made his stomach flip.

Thomas stood there, back against Aaron’s door, newspaper held out in front of him. “Once again, the press corps has more details than we do it seems.” Thomas peered over the paper at Aaron. “Did you see today’s headline?”

“No,” Aaron said, as if he didn’t already suspect what Thomas was talking about. Thomas held out the paper for Aaron to see: Star Trial Witness Lost to the Sands of Time - Serial Killer to Blame? Aaron scoffed. “Clever.”

“They’re calling him Mr. Grin,” Thomas said, taking the paper back.

“I’m sorry, they’re calling him what?” Aaron asked, hoping beyond all hope that he’d misheard somehow.

“Mr. Grin? Because of the smile-slash thing?” Thomas replied, eyes scanning the newsprint.

There were several emotions rushing through him at that given moment: disbelief, pain, sadness, anger. Mr. Grin. They had decided to call him Mr. Grin. Aaron had dedicated years of his life, hour upon hour researching and thinking and deciding upon the perfect maneuvering and plans for every single kill he had under his belt. 

The time and effort he had put into this was beyond what words could describe, his entire being was put into each and every single one of his kills. They were works of art, unique to their field. Aaron had started off so long ago, not sure what the urges inside of him were. The internal turmoil he had suffered through before he realized just what it was that would make it all go away.

Aaron had put so much energy into this, and this was what he got. He had sacrificed so much, and this was what the world had to repay him with. He swallowed around the suddenly forming lump in his throat and nodded once, to himself. He could do this, he could carry on in the new face of this disaster. He had dealt with Alexander Hamilton in his college years, he could deal with this.

A bad moniker was the least of his worries, or at least that’s what Aaron tried to tell himself. He inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, trying his best to push down the rising anger. He clenched his hands tight into a fist, focusing on the sharp pain of his fingernails against the meat of his palm. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder and took in a deep breath, calmer now. 

The anger was a tight ball in his chest, and he pushed it down. He could deal with that later.

Aaron forced himself to relax and looked at Thomas. “Who came up with is? Seems like a crappy name for our newest serial killer.”

“Actually,” Thomas laughed. “That’s the best part - Hamilton named him.” 

Aaron crushed the cardboard to-go cup in his hands, the now cold remnants of the coffee dripping down his hand. “Is that so?”

Thomas’ eyes were wide. “Burr? Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” He looked down at his hand. “Everything is fine.”

Thomas nodded his head, not believing him. “Right. Well, I’ll see you later. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Will do.”

Aaron watched as Thomas walked away, hair bouncing with each step. He turned back to his door and turned the knob, not aware enough to notice that it was already unlocked. He walked into his office, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Aaron leaned his back against it and banged the back of his head against the wall, exactly once.

“Morning!” The sudden sound made Aaron jump, and he looked in the direction it came from. Alexander himself sat in Aaron’s chair, grinning ear to ear. “Bet you can’t guess what I did this morning!”

“Break into my office?” Aaron replied.

“No! Well-” Alexander glanced around the room “-technically yes, but not what I was talking about!” Aaron let out a sigh, already regretting his next question.

“What did you do-”

“I named a serial killer,” Alexander said triumphantly. “How cool is that? I mean, how many people can say that? And I did it so naturally. I was just talking to a reporter and it slipped out and it’s such a good name too! Came up with it right on the spot. Aaron Burr, I am a genius.”

“Mhm,” Aaron hummed, squeezing the already destroyed cup in his hand. Of course it was Alex. Who else would it be? Aaron inhaled again, deeply. He could handle this. Move past it. Who cared about what name you would go down in history as?

“Shame about Sands though.” Alexander said. “More of a shame for you I guess. Not that I’m glad she died, but-” Alexander waved a hand in the air vaguely. “- it does take quite a bit of pressure off my shoulders.”

Yes, yes it did. Aaron nodded and said, “think on the bright side.”

“Exactly!” Alexander stood up, walking toward him. “I always knew there was some shred of wisdom behind that expressionless face of yours!”

He sighed. “Right. Well, is there anything else you’ve achieved today that’s worth mentioning?”

Alexander raised a hand to his chin. “Nope, but Washington wanted to meet with you and Thomas at some point today, I think.”

“Great. Now, get out of my office.”

A finger pushed against his chest. “You’re in the way.”

“Fine.” Aaron moved to the side of the door. “Is the path clear enough now, your Majesty?”

Alexander laughed, a familiar sound that made a small grin cross Aaron’s face. “It’s about time you show me the proper respect, and that’s King Namer of Serial Killers to you.”

“Oh lord,” Aaron shook his head. “Now out with you, some of us have actual work to do.”

Alexander laughed again and moved to leave. “Whatever you say, Burr. See you later.”

“Goodbye, Hamilton,” Aaron said. Alexander disappeared out of his office and Aaron collapsed in his chair. He tried going through his files, working through his case against Weeks now that Catherine was dead, but he couldn’t get the name Mr. Grin out of his head. Alexander goddamn Hamilton just had to go and give him the worst name, after all Aaron had done for-

The lead in Aaron’s pencil broke. He looked at what he was writing to find it near unintelligible. Aaron really needed to stop thinking about the name. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe if he ran down to the break room and got some coffee…

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. When Aaron called for whomever it was to come in, Thomas poked his head in the door.

“Boss wants to see us,” he said. Aaron nodded, standing from his desk.

“Hamilton said something about that,” he said. Thomas pulled a face.

“The little rat is running around here?” He asked. Aaron nodded. Thomas shook his head. “For a defense attorney, the man sure hangs around the DA’s office quite a bit.” Aaron shrugged in response, grabbing a pad and pencil.

“Any idea what Washington wants?” Aaron asked. Thomas shook his head, standing back from the door to let Aaron out into the hallway. They made their way back to the elevators and Thomas jammed the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut and they were alone.

There were only inches separating them, and a part of Aaron’s mind wondered what would happen if he stepped close enough to feel Thomas’ warmth. There was always something comforting about closeness. The elevator was large enough that there could be several feet between them and they wouldn’t be at the walls. Thomas had actively made the decision to stand close to him. Aaron took in a breath and stared at his unclear reflection in the shining metal of the elevator doors. The silence was painful. 

It was ridiculous to spend so much time worrying about such things, but anything to distract from the pain of Mr. Grin. A clear sound rang out as the elevator doors opened, and Thomas gestured for Aaron to step off first. 

The walk from the elevator to Washington’s office was a short one, and neither spoke during it. There was always an uncertainty when going to talk with Washington. The man was as likely to doll out praise as he was to deliver harsh criticism; it was often a mystery until after it had happened, words subtle yet direct in a way Aaron still hadn’t mastered.

Tench Tilghman, Washington’s receptionist, glanced up for just a moment, nodded a greeting and then pressed the button on his intercom.

“Mr. Washington, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Burr are here,” Tilghman said, leaning down into the speaker. A moment later, Washington’s voice arose from the intercom.

“Send them in.”

Tilghman looked up. “You heard the boss,” he said, waving them past the desk and to the large oak door. Thomas gave Aaron a quick smile - meant to be reassuring but it just sent Aaron’s mind reeling - and opened the door.

Washington sat at his huge, mahogany desk waiting for them. And if Thomas’ half smile had knocked Aaron off balance the sight of his boss yanked the floor out from under him. Washington was a striking man, the kind whose very presence demanded attention. Aaron’s distaste for meeting with Washington had nothing to do with his boss and everything to do with how easily distracted he became in the man’s immediate vicinity. 

He took in a deep breath to steady himself and focused effort on not letting his eyes drift down to Washington’s hands, spread out flat on the desk. Thomas stepped up next to him. “Sir, you asked to see us.”

Washington nodded, strong and sure. “I did. Take a seat,” Aaron and Thomas did as instructed, sitting in awkward silence as Washington looked at them. Thomas fidgeted, shifting in his seat, and shot a glance at Aaron. Aaron, for his part, felt super-glued still. Washington’s heavy gaze trapped him in place while it seemed like Thomas wanted to pick apart the chair cushions with his fingernails.

“What did you call us in for, sir?” Thomas asked. Washington blinked, as if Thomas had pulled him out of his own mind.

“The Sands murder,” Washington said. Aaron’s ears perked up. “It seems that the media believes there’s a serial killer running around the city.”

“Yeah, Hamilton went and named him,” Thomas said. Washington gritted his jaw.

“Unfortunately. The governor called. Now that the people are getting riled up about this-” Washington let out a sigh. “-‘Mr. Grin,’ he wants to make a show of investigating it.”

“Sir, we don’t even know if Mr. Grin exists,” Aaron said, hiding the wince at the name. The only comfort was that Washington seemed to dislike it too.

“I know, but until we can prove that he doesn’t, the public will be up in arms and we have to look like we’re taking it seriously.” Washington pulled two files from the corner of his desk and handed one to both Aaron and Thomas. “This is everything we have on cases that might be attributed to Mr. Grin, should he actually exist.”

Thomas snorted. “Well, it’s either he exists or we have a bunch of people committing the exact same type of murder. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be on the hunt for one guy rather than a cult.” 

Aaron flipped through the folder, internally laughing to himself as he read the notes on the cases. “Practiced and careful cuts”, “strangulation appears expertly done”, “doesn’t appear to be a crime of passion.” 

Washington leaned back into his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrest. “A group of people is less likely than one man, in all honesty. However, there aren’t any obvious connections between the chosen victims.”

“Do you want us to look into that?” Thomas asked, eyebrows raising as he looked through the attached images. “None of this makes any sense.”

Aaron tapped the picture of the mutilated face of who had once been a handsome young man. He remembered him; Sam Seabury. Aaron remembered each and every one of his victims clear as day. He supposed it was difficult to see the connection between the barista who never got the orders right and the woman who was putting heat on the law firm’s back when your ears weren’t constantly ringing with Alexander’s complaints.

He closed the folder and turned to Thomas. “It doesn’t make sense, but I guess that’s our job - to make sense of it.”

“Exactly,” Washington said. “Now, because this case is going to be under such heavy attention, I want to keep a close watch on the two of you.”

Aaron leaned forward in his seat, surprised, careful not to let it show on his face. “How do you mean?”

Washington was silent for a moment, before saying: “Nothing too difficult. We will be meeting weekly until this is taken care of. It won’t be anything too formal - maybe over lunch depending on how our schedules work out.”

“That sounds wonderful, sir,” Thomas said. “Is that all?”

“Unfortunately, this means I have to take you off the Weeks case, Burr. I’ll make sure it goes to someone capable, but I can’t have your attention split.”

Aaron pressed the tip of his forefinger to his thumb, focusing on the pressure. He’d be spending most of his time at work with Thomas, and what wouldn’t be with Thomas alone would be with Thomas and Washington. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It’d all be fine. He was an adult, a professional. Surely Alexander would get into enough trouble that he’d be able to find enough to do to attract his attention in his free time. Aaron forced his hand to relax and looked to Washington. “Of course, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Looks like we’ll be getting rather close.” Thomas elbowed his side. “What do you say Burr? Partners in crime?”

Aaron looked at Thomas, saying nothing.

Thomas laughed. “Alright, alright. Partners in law.”

He sighed. Washington snorted, and said, “looks like you two will get along just fine. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Good bye, sir,” Aaron said, standing up. “Have a good day.”

“You as well.” Washington nodded his dismissal. Thomas lead the way out, file tucked neatly under his arm. Aaron followed along behind, already trying to mentally sort which of his victims were in the file and which hadn’t been noticed yet.

“So, your office or mine?” Thomas asked, giving Aaron a little smirk. Aaron’s entire thought process ground to a halt, losing any and all progress he had mentally made.

“Excuse me?” Aaron choked out. Thomas barked a laugh.

“Do you want to work in my office or yours?” Thomas asked. “Or we could commandeer a meeting room.”

“Mine,” Aaron said. “Just be warned, Hamilton will randomly appear.”

“What?” Thomas froze. “He works on the opposite side of the building? He works for a private firm? Why? Why would I possibly be subjected to Hamilton?”

He shrugged. “It’s Hamilton. I don’t have any more explanation.”

Sure enough, when they finally made their way to his office, there was a cup of coffee waiting on his desk with the word ‘asshole’ scribbled on the side of it in messy writing, along with a note saying, “you weren’t here, I ate the scone I got you.”

Aaron picked it up and gave it to Thomas. “See? It’s Hamilton.” Thomas looked at the note, up at Aaron, then back down at it again.

“Is it too late to move to my office?”


	3. Hugh Mulligan

If someone were to ask Aaron how he spent the morning leading up to his first day partnered with Thomas, he would say he did exactly as he always did. He did not wake up an hour early, did not spend almost forty minutes trying to pick a suit, and most certainly did not stare at himself in the mirror giving himself a slight pep talk regarding his new work situation. No, none of that happened and Aaron would deny it to the grave.

There were always those gifts that, once received, were shoved into some dark corner - too nice to throw away, but never meant to be used. Aaron grabbed a bottle of facial oil from that dark corner gifted to him by Alexander, and after a second of deliberation, applied it to his face in the circular motions the bottle demanded. There was no reason for it. He met his own gaze head on in the mirror and told himself that it was a spur of the moment decision to treat himself - nothing more, nothing less. The light sandalwood scent filled his nose, and he took a moment to enjoy the simple pleasures as he rubbed his hands over his cheeks.

He let out a pleased sigh into the open air of the tiny bathroom and nodded to himself. Aaron put the oil on the shelf next to his usual soap instead of its previous dark corner, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. For the first time in his life, Aaron understood the ‘glow from within’ that the beauty ads talked about. It was a nice feeling. He’d have to treat himself more often.

Aaron usually looked nice, he knew. Presentable but non-descript. But today, upon emerging from the bathroom, he felt better about his appearance than he had in a long while. A little extra time in the morning and a little oil could work wonders on him, apparently. 

Bells was already in the kitchen, and when he turned to greet Aaron, he froze in place. Bells’ eyes widened ever so slightly, looking Aaron over slowly.

“Why are we all fancy today?” Bells asked. “You don’t have court, do you?” Aaron smiled, if Bells was impressed Aaron had done something right.

“I just felt like it today,” Aaron said with a shrug. Thomas’ face appeared in his mind for a split second, but he pushed it aside. Thomas had nothing to do with it. “I think I might make a new habit of it.”

A light flush rose to Bells’ cheeks, which Aaron did his best to promptly ignore. Bells swallowed, and said, “Well, it’s certainly not a bad one.”

“Thank you.” Aaron sat down at the breakfast bar and started to look through the news alerts on his phone. “So, what are you deciding to bless my palate with this morning, Chef Bellamy?”

Bells turned back to the stove. “Oh, nothing too fancy - just an omelet.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’ve ruined me for life.”

“What if I told you that was the plan?” Bells’ laughter rang clear, and Aaron shook his head, joining in. “You’re stuck with me forever - I’ve seduced you with my mastery over eggs.”

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” They fell back into a comfortable silence, and Aaron kept his eyes peeled for any mention of Mr. Grin as he read through the articles. Nothing new had come up, and the logical part of his brain was glad, but something within his chest fell. They use him for ratings and then forget about him instead of developing his story. The news cycle had no respect for the proper order of things.

A hot plate was placed in front of him. “Order up. One southwestern omelet for you, and a vegetable scramble for me,” Bells said, familiar smile on his face.

Aaron grabbed a fork. “Thanks, smells great.” Bells slid into the seat next to Aaron and dug into his own food. If Aaron noticed the way Bells kept glancing at him, he said nothing about it. They ate in comfortable silence, Aaron careful not to drop anything on himself.

“Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?” Bells asked. “I heard about your witness getting killed, that’s gotta be a blow on your case.”

Aaron shook his head, wiping his face with a napkin. “Not my case, Washington took me off it.” Bells’ eyebrows shot up.

“So what are you doing?” He asked.

“Washington’s got me working on that serial killer theory they’re throwing around,” Aaron explained.

“Mr. Grin?” Bells pushed his food around on his plate, idly watching Aaron as he stood and took his now-empty plate to the sink. With his back turned, Bells couldn’t see the way Aaron still grimaced at the name.

“Yeah, that one.” Aaron dropped his plate in the sink and glanced at his phone. “I have to get going. Thomas is waiting on me.”

“Thomas?”

“Thomas Jefferson.” Aaron smiled to himself. “One of the other lawyers. We’re working on the Grin case together.”

“Oh,” Bells said, an undercurrent of relief in his voice. “Your lunch is on the counter.”

“Thanks Bells,” Aaron said, grabbing the paper bag. “You’re the best.”

“No, you are!” Bells called as Aaron walked out the door. Aaron waved a quick goodbye that Bells matched and then he was on his way to work.

The walk was as familiar as it ever was, but for the first time in a long time, Aaron wasn’t planning for how he’d spend his time after the work day was over. He was excited to get to work, walking faster with more of a bounce in his step as he thought about how much time he’d get to spend with Thomas. It was a change in pace, a new work environment - that was it. That was why there was the small bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. Thomas Jefferson had nothing to do with it.

The office building was as welcoming as it ever was - not at all, but familiar just the same. There was no denying the hint of a smile that spread across Aaron’s face when he walked down the hall to find Thomas standing by his door, just as he had been the day before. 

Thomas’ eyes followed the clean lines of his suit. “Someone is looking awfully chipper today.”

“Weird mood,” Aaron said, shrugging. “I’m not going to fight it.”

“Fair enough.” Thomas smiled. “So, you ready for the big day ahead?”

Aaron sighed. “Oh yes, the charming case of Mr. Grin.” He stuck his key into his office door and let them both in. “Let’s get started.”

\--------------

By the time Friday rolled around, Aaron’s office was starting to resemble the den of a conspiracy theorist: pictures of victims were taped to a rolling whiteboard, little notecards with the details of each crime beneath them. Bits of red thread taped to photographs denoted what connections they could find.

Or they would, if Aaron would stop changing them around each time Thomas turned his back. He was getting pretty good at silently lifting scotch tape from the board and re-attaching it securely. Admittedly, he felt a little bad each time Thomas looked at a ‘connection’ and desperately tried to remember what it meant.

“What is this one?” Thomas asked, plucking a string between two fingers. “Why is the location of the Seabury murder tied to Hugh Mulligan?!”

Aaron shrugged and said, “I don’t know, one of us probably got distracted.”

“Right.” Thomas nodded, and pulled down Aaron’s purposeful mistake while Aaron’s mind continued to run.

Hugh Mulligan was a name he hadn’t thought of years. Hugh had been the first, Mr. Grin’s first, not his. A sharp spike of fear had shot through his chest when he found the Mulligan file among the rest - the one name that could be used to connect Mr. Grin to his past. It wouldn’t have been a problem at all if Hugh had just learned to talk less. But Hugh, like Hercules, had been loud and Aaron had never considered himself above forcibly silencing someone. 

He took in a deep breath and flexed his hands at his sides, clearing the thoughts and focusing on the present. Hugh Mulligan was in the past, and he was in control over where they decided to look in regards to Mr. Grin. If Thomas expressed interest in that lead, Aaron would just have to do his best to redirect him. The Hercules case could sit just where it was, untouched, if Aaron played his cards right.

Aaron was pulled out of his thoughts by the beeping of Thomas’ phone. Thomas fished it out of his jacket and scanned the screen before saying, “Washington wants to see us.”

“Already?” Aaron asked. “It’s been three days.”

Thomas shrugged. “He wants to do Fridays, I guess.” Thomas pocketed his phone and grabbed his bag. “Come on, we’re going down to Penn’s.”

Aaron rolled his shoulders. “That’s a long walk, we better get going.”

“Nah, Washington ordered us an uber.” Thomas moved to walk out of the office, and Aaron followed, locking the door behind him. Last thing he needed was Hamilton getting into anything. 

“Huh, that’s convenient.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. C’mon, we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed in agreement, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything. 

Traffic meant that the drive wasn’t that much shorter than the walk would be, but the driver was nice enough and kept to herself while Aaron and Thomas shared the backseat, each looking at their phones to avoid thinking about just how close they were in the small car. 

They reached Penn’s - technically called The State House but nicknamed by locals- said their good-byes to the driver, and were soon being lead to the table where Washington was already sitting. Work lunches had always made Aaron uncomfortable, not sure what level of formality was expected from him at any given moment. What meal he got would hold a weight he hadn’t thought of before, needing to think about how neatly certain foods could be eaten. Neither Washington nor Thomas needed to see him with spaghetti sauce covering his chin and shirt.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Washington said. He already had a glass of water in front of him, nothing else. Aaron and Thomas returned the greeting, Aaron eyeing the booth left open opposite Washington. Where he and Thomas meant to sit on the same side?

Apparently so as Thomas slid into the booth, scooting as close to the wall to leave Aaron room. Aaron ignored the twisting in his stomach as he took his place, hyperaware of how close Thomas’ leg was to his. Thomas, for his part, seemed unperturbed, eyes glued to the menu in his hands.

Washington looked between him and Thomas, and Aaron had his attention trying to focus on too many things until the menu in front of him was a blur. Washington said, “I was told that the day’s special is an avocado chicken club, if that appeals to you.”

Next to him, Thomas jumped slightly, and set the menu down on the table. “Great. I’ll just get that then.”

Washington smiled, small but present. “Great.” Washington leaned forward. “So, how’s the case coming along?”

Aaron shrugged, eyes still directed at the menu in his hands. “Oh, as expected. It’s too early to have anything worth mentioning.”

“Normally I’d disagree,” Thomas said from beside him. “But there’s just so much and none of it seems connected. I didn’t realize how prolific Mr. Grin was.”

“The only thing all the victims have in common so far is method of kill and the face slashes,” Aaron adds.

Thomas started to tap his fingers on the table. “And the thing is that I know there’s some sort of link, there has to be some way everything is connected. A person doesn’t make random choices like that, especially since these were all thought through. The actual murder technique is all the same, they’re practiced. I’m missing something but I don’t know what.”

Aaron nodded, still reading the menu. “He’s too organized to just pick random people from the street,” Aaron said, being very careful with his word choices. “We just have to figure out what that organization is.” Aaron was grateful that Hamilton didn’t follow his own rules of organization and habit.

Washington sighed. “I get it. These cases are never simple, which is why I wanted you two working together, and why I’m insisting on being so involved.”

“Of course, sir,” Thomas said. “I’m honored you chose us to work on this case.”

“Well,” Washington smiled. “You two are my best.” The simple words of praise, coupled with the slight smile is enough to make Aaron’s stomach fill with a sudden kaleidoscope of butterflies. Beside him, Thomas broke out into a smile of his own and Aaron suddenly wasn't sure how he was going to sit through this lunch anymore.

The waitress came by before Aaron could be expected to form an appropriate response. “I see your guests have joined you. Can I get either of you something to drink? Are you ready to order or would you like more time?”

Aaron cleared his throat and said the first food item his eyes focused in on, “I’ll have the spaghetti marinara, and can I have an iced water with lemon to drink?” Instantly Aaron regretted his words but it was too late to take them back now. He folded his menu, putting it gently down on the table, internally kicking himself.

The waitress wrote it down on the pad of paper and said, “Of course.” She took Thomas’ and Washington’s orders and went on her merry way, leaving the three alone together once more.

“You know,” Thomas said. “As much as I have accepted this as a part of my life now, there’s something weird about literally discussing murders over lunch.”

Washington laughed, and the fluttering in Aaron’s stomach came back in full force. It took him a second, but when he figured out what the cause for the sudden churning in his gut, he almost groaned aloud.

This was just what he needed, wasn’t it? Not only was he working his own case, pretending to want to solve the mystery of the terrible named Mr. Grim,  _ not only _ was it difficult to think around the man he’d been partnered with, but now he had to deal with a childish crush on his boss. He didn’t sign up for this.

Aaron longed to be able to press his forehead to the cool wood of the table. He refrained, and instead said, “it’s amazing how our lives end up so different from how we imagined.” The murder had never surprised him, but the feelings always had. Friendship, and this new - whatever it was - was not something he was prepared to deal with.

Aaron felt the familiar creep of anxiety crawling up his throat. This was  _ not  _ what he needed. Aaron tried to push away the way his heart swelled when the other two men laughed at something he said, and his failure to do so only made it worse. Something awful bubbled in his gut, something that made him only pick at his food once it arrived. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t force himself to even try.

Aaron felt himself slipping out of control. He gripped his fork tight, fighting to keep his face as neutral as possible. He knew how to deal with it, how to make this jittery feeling inside him go away. He just had to make it through this. Aaron always had emergency plans for just this type of situation, and a rolodex of names and faces flashed through his mind. He just had to pick one. 

Charles Lee, that lawyer Washington fired a few months back?  _ No _ , not him, not yet at least. Thomas rambled on about how good his club was, voice melodic and enchanting. John Adams, the assistant DA? Too high profile to go after without a detailed plan. Washington hummed around a mouthful of food, the sound deep and rumbling. George King, Kitty Livingston, William Howe-

“Burr, are you alright?” Thomas asked, jolting Aaron out of his mind.

“Of course,” Aaron said, forcing his voice even and level. Thomas frowned.

“You’ve been quiet,” he pointed out. “And just pushing your food around.” Aaron looked down at his plate, having almost forgotten that he even had food in front of him.

“I’m not hungry,” Aaron said, hoping Thomas would drop it.

“You need to eat Burr,” Washington said. Aaron could feel his boss’ concerned gaze on him without looking up.

“I’m a bit nauseous,” Aaron admitted. It wasn’t a lie. Thomas’ frown deepened.

“Should you go home?” Thomas asked. Aaron shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. We have work to do,” he said. Leaving Thomas alone with those files was a bad idea, Aaron knew. He looked down at his plate, maybe he could force a few bites?

“Go home Burr,” Washington broke in. “You don’t look well.”

“But sir-” Aaron cut himself off. The right name just flashed to the forefront of his mind. Aaron knew who Mr. Grin’s next victim was going to be. And gosh darn it if using an afternoon off to plan and do it right didn’t sound appealing.

Aaron sighed. “Alright.” Thomas started, taken aback. He hadn’t expected Aaron to give in so easily, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Washington just nodded.

“Take the weekend, rest. Come back on Monday,” Washington said. Aaron nodded, standing up. He grabbed his wallet and threw more than enough to cover his bill and tip onto the table 

“Thank you, sir. Have a good weekend. You too Thomas,” Aaron said, mind already making a list of everything he needed. He stepped away from the table, ready to turn his back and leave-

“Wait!” Thomas wiggled out of the booth. Aaron looked up at him. “Let me make sure you get home.”

“I was going to call an uber. Besides, you didn’t drive here” Aaron said. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. When Thomas did speak, it was a few heartbeats later.

“Just, text me when you get home?” Thomas asked. Aaron hesitated, thinking. Thomas could give him a half-decent alibi if worst came to worst.

“I don’t have your number,” Aaron said. Thomas flashed him a smile, digging his own phone out of his pocket 

“Put your number in, I’ll send you a message,” Thomas said, unlocking and holding his phone out for Aaron. Aaron did as he was instructed, simultaneous spikes of joy and anxiety flooding his system.

“I’ll see you Monday?” Aaron said, handing Thomas’ phone back. Thomas nodded.

“Monday,” he said. Aaron nodded his goodbye to both men, turned on his heel and walked out of the restaurant.

He had an appointment with one Mr. George Eacker.


	4. George Eacker

Aaron hadn’t checked up on Eacker in quite some time, the man never taking up too much of his thoughts - until now. Eacker had always been a backup plan, one Aaron saved for a rainy day. Or a day that made him feel like he was going to peel off his own skin if he couldn’t find release for the jittery, all-consuming anxiety in his body.

Eacker had never been a huge target, no; he was simply a man that made enough of a nuisance out of himself to put himself on Aaron’s radar. He was the type of man that liked to make himself bigger than he was; all words, talking himself up and no action to support it. Eacker sure loved to talk a big game when hidden behind a computer or phone screen.

But here, with Aaron’s arm clamped around his throat, Eacker found himself entirely speechless. Aaron pressed down harder, exerting the extra force just to see Eacker’s eyes widen more. There was a difference between the entertaining possibility of death and accepting the certainty of death, and one of Aaron’s guilty pleasures was watching people cross that line.

Eacker squirmed, kicked, did anything he could to try and make Aaron relieve the pressure, but his struggles grew weaker by the second. Aaron felt every bit of anxiety leave his body the same moment the last gasp of air escaped Eacker’s lungs. Aaron held on just a bit longer - he’d had a scare early on in his career with victims he’d simply knocked out and not killed - before letting Eacker’s body drop to the floor.

Aaron had none of the same reverence for Eacker as he had for Sands; Sands had been simply a victim of circumstance - passionate in a way that had happened to inconvenience him. Eacker had brought this on himself, no circumstances to hide behind. Eacker’s body crumpled to the ground as Aaron went back to his bag.

Aaron pulled out his knife box and picked out the most jagged knife in his collection. He was not about to leave Eacker looking any sort of pretty. Eacker’s smile - not anything to write home about - set Aaron’s face into a scowl. Without a second thought - sparing only what caution he needed to keep any evidence off Eacker’s body - Aaron tore into Eacker’s face.

He rarely made the cuts so gruesome. It was a treat, something he gave himself only when he really needed it. The jagged edge left strings of flesh hanging to the side as the cheeks unfurled, yellow teeth showing through in contrast to the blood pooling around them. Aaron could feel the warm liquid on his face, dripping down his neck onto his collar. He’d have to deal with that stain, but it was worth it.

What little tension had remained was gone. Blood was on the floor around him, and the knife was in his hand, gleaming in the early morning sun as the steel shined through the red. Aaron stood up, and looked around the small motel room. He felt almost sorry for whatever poor motel maid would eventually have to try and clean this all up. Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, set aside for this occasion, bloody gloves leaving marks. He set it on the table, folded neatly in half. This might be part of their job description, but no one wanted to clean up a dead body.

Aaron pulled off his gloves and coat, stuffing them inside his bag and checked himself in the motel mirror. Frowning at the blood splatters on his face and neck, Aaron turned the sink on and ran his hands under cold water. He could easily clean himself off, the red splotches on his white collar were significantly more difficult. It was already starting to set, Aaron did his best with water and the awful motel soap. It wasn’t doing much, and the longer Aaron scrubbed, the more he worried for his cuticles. Maybe he’d have to try one of those hand masks that he’d heard Thomas mention. 

He wiped his hands off on his pants, and frowned at the dark, dried blood that wouldn’t budge. There wasn’t much he could do at this point. Aaron threw his bag over his shoulder and peeped through the curtains, searching for anyone who might be out. Thankfully, motel parking lots weren’t the type of place to be bustling before eight in the morning.   

It was with one final look that he scurried across the parking lot, slow enough not to draw extra attention. There was a subway stop nearby that he had planned on using. Aaron turned the other way. It was a reasonable enough walk to the apartment. He’d have the stick to the shadows as much as he safely could and hope that anyone who saw him would pass it off as a pre-caffeine haze. Most people knew better than to mess with someone covered in blood. But, Aaron also knew Alexander Hamilton, and knew that not everyone listened to their common sense.

The morning air was cool against his skin, but he shoved his hands in his pockets, kept his head down, and made his own way back. It took Aaron less time than he had imagined to reach his apartment door, constantly aware of who might be around him. He unlocked the door, shut it behind him, and collapsed against in relief, taking a short moment to relax. No one has seen him. There were no worried looks, no mutterings, no police enforcement wanting to know just what he had been up to that morning.

Aaron opened his eyes to find Bells smiling at him, steaming mug of coffee in hand. “Ah,” his hand lept to his throat, trying to cover his collar. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you up so early.” For some reason, in all of Aaron’s plans, he had never accounted for the possibility that Bells might find him covered in blood post-murder. 

“I made you coffee!” Bells’ grin got wider at his acknowledgement. “I woke up early this morning - I’ve always wanted to do yoga with the sunrise - and I went to check in on you and saw you weren’t here. I figured something urgent must have come up, I know you’re not one to abandon your routine.”

“So you made me coffee?” Aaron raised a brow.

“Yep!” Bells nodded, happy as Aaron had ever seen him. His collar burned under his fingers, his hands wrapped around his own neck for once in an attempt to look as casual as possible while hiding bloodstains.

“Thanks, Bells,” Aaron said, eyeing his bedroom door. If he could just get past Bells and change-

“Are you alright?” Bells asked, his smile slipping slightly. “Is something wrong with your neck?”

“No,” Aaron said. “I’m just a little tense, nothing too bad.”

Bells nodded, and set the coffee to the side. Aaron took a step away from the door, in the direction of his bedroom. Bells turned back around. “I could always give you a massage, if you like?” 

Aaron shook his head. “No, that’s really not necessary. I’m just going to, uh, lie down, take a nap.”

“Are you sure?” Bells stepped closer, and Aaron took another step toward his room.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks though, I really appreciate it. I might take you up on it after I, uh, wake up.” He took another step. His door was about eight feet away from him, close enough that Aaron began to feel like it was taunting him. Within reach were it not for Bells, who was mirroring his movements.

“It’s really not good to let that sort of tension build up, you know.”

Aaron nodded, and took a tiny step. “I know. I’ve found sleeping on it usually helps.”

“If you’re sure.” Bells’ eyes narrowed slightly. “I just want to make sure you’re fine.”

“I’m more than fine.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later then?”

Aaron nodded. “Of course. We live together, after all.”

“You’re absolutely right!” Bells’ smile returned. “I’ll see you in a bit, after your nap. Sleep tight.”

“Will do.”

Bells’ eyes didn’t leave Aaron as he walked to his room. The door shut behind him and Aaron let out a pent-up breath. As he tugged off his shirt, Aaron couldn’t help but wonder just how he’d gotten away with that. He looked at the cloth in his hands, the bloodstains were prominent and large enough that there was no way Aaron could have covered it all with his hands. Bells  _ had  _ to have seen it, certainly.

Yet here Aaron was, getting off scot free. It didn’t make sense. Bells had seen him; taken him in visually as he always did. Bells was a mother hen in the truest sense, and Aaron knew that Bell’s eyes had scanned every inch of him looking for any sort of sign of his discomfort, wanting to know how to make it go away. It was sweet, usually getting on Aaron’s nerves. Bells never had trouble pointing out tiny stains, would always rush forward to help him take off his shirt with a stain stick in hand to rub the stain out. Bells had to have seen the blood, must have made the decision to ignore it.

But that didn’t make  _ sense _ . Bells wasn’t the type to just ignore  _ blood _ . Blood meant injury which sent Bells scurrying for the first-aid kit in the bathroom. He wouldn’t ignore an obvious sign of injury while expressing such concern for the imagined one. Why would Bells zero in on his supposed sore neck?

No, Bells must have missed it somehow. Aaron couldn’t remember if Bells wore contacts - maybe he hadn’t put them in yet? Was Bells color blind? Perhaps the lighting in the kitchen had been just dark enough to mask his collar in shadow.

Maybe it was that odd trick people’s minds play sometimes. He’d heard hundreds of witnesses testify about how they just didn’t notice how their husbands kept sneaking large amounts of food to the basement or their best friends stalking someone they’d met in class. Big, obvious red flags were dismissed simply because people didn’t want to think their loved ones could kidnap five children or murder that woman from their history lecture. It happened to even the brightest of minds, and Bells was far from the brightest.

Aaron went and pulled out the hydrogen peroxide from the basket he kept in his closet. He unscrewed the cap and poured it over the collar of his shirt. It was one of the few things he had learned to get the blood out - always wear white because it can bleach and stain other fabrics. It was a trick he had learned from Alexander, of all people. 

He threw the shirt into the basket with the rest of his laundry. He’d have to wash it tonight before Bells got into one of his housekeeping moods. Aaron ran his hands over his head, sighing. He was alone, and Eacker was dead. All was well. He’d have to take care of his knives later, but for now, he could relax.

Aaron kicked off his shoes and sat on his bed. It wouldn’t be unwise to take a shower. He examined his fingernails again, and longed for the nail brush he had tucked away next to his body wash. Yes, a shower would be fantastic. Just as he was getting up to go to the bathroom, Aaron felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It was a text from Thomas, asking if he felt better. Aaron felt a small smile cross his face. It was sweet of Thomas to ask.

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_I’m fine, thanks._ **

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_I was looking over the case files, and I think I got a new lead. Would you be available this weekend to maybe go over it?_ **

Aaron paused. A weekend meet-up with Thomas? A single  _ lunch _ had sent him spiraling enough to necessitate the ending of Eacker’s life. Why had Thomas been looking over the files anyway, shouldn’t those have been locked away in the office?

Yet the more Aaron thought about it, the more he convinced himself he couldn’t say no. He’d skipped half the day yesterday, he’d just said he was feeling better, and if Thomas had an idea then gosh darn it, Thomas had an idea. Yeah, Aaron had to meet up with Thomas. For work purposes.

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Yeah, that sounds great. What time works for you?_ **

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Anytime_ **

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_I’ll be free in about an hour or so. Where do you want to meet?”_ **

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Is my place good?_ **

Aaron blinked. Thomas was inviting him to his apartment? On the weekend? A coffee shop or the office was one thing, but Thomas’ own apartment? That was a level of intimacy Aaron hadn’t expected. The mere thought of it had butterflies spinning around in his chest. 

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Sounds good, I’ll see you in a bit._ **

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Text me when you’re leaving so I can give you my address_ **

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Of course_ **

Thomas didn’t reply, and Aaron put his phone on the charger and went to grab a towel. He’d take a quick shower, make sure there was no hint of blood, and head out. Aaron had pictured an uneventful day for himself, but now he had to make sure Thomas wasn’t making any legitimate connections. The excitement filling him was that of getting to solve a puzzle, or un-solve it, in this case. It had nothing to do with Thomas himself. Nothing at all. 

When Aaron emerged from his bedroom, showered and dressed, Bells was perched on the counter by the pantry door. He was pulling the tea supplies from the tea cabinet - honey and stirring straws - and the kettle was already on the stove. Bells - shifting his weight to hop off the counter - stopped when he saw Aaron. “Oh, hey! I thought you were taking a nap. I was just about to make some tea, would you like some?”

Aaron scanned the island for his key. “I was actually heading out.”

Bells blinked, hands tightening around the honey jar. “What?”

“Yeah, Thomas got a new lead on the case.” Aaron’s hand closed around his key and pocketed it. When he looked up, Bells had hopped off the counter and was now standing just on the other side of the island.

Bells set the honey to the side. “Thomas? I thought you were taking the weekend away from work. I was planning on making pad thai.”

Aaron looked toward the door. “I’ll probably be back in time for dinner.”

Bells’ face become aggressively neutral. “I see. Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Aaron’s hand went up to scratch the back of his neck. “See you later.” He looked at Bells for a moment, “you know, maybe we could watch a movie or something later, yeah?”

Bells face lit up like a Christmas Tree. “That sounds nice!” He said. “I’ll make popcorn.” Aaron offered a slight smile, which Bells returned ten-fold.

“Sounds like a plan,” Aaron said. He finally made his way out the door, feeling Bell’s eyes on his back the entire time.

“Bye,” Bells called softly, just as Aaron shut the door. Something in his friend’s tone made Aaron hesitate. There was a nagging feeling that maybe something was off wriggling in the back of his mind. Aaron shook his head, pushing it away. Thomas was waiting on him.

\--------------

Thomas buzzed Aaron up to his apartment, and greeting Aaron with a small grin as he leaned against the door frame. 

“Good morning, Mr. Burr,” Thomas almost  _ purred _ . Aaron rolled his eyes, fighting down the jolt of warmth that flooded him.

“Morning,” Aaron replied. They stood there for a second, silence stretching out between them. Despite Thomas’ relaxed posture, his gaze as he looked Aaron up and down was sharp, almost searching. Aaron fought the urge to shuffle in place, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he’d dressed too casually, just a v-neck and jeans. Thomas still looked like he was ready to walk into a party, jazzy purple shirt and all.

Aaron cleared his throat, and the sound seemingly jolted Thomas into action. “Right,” Thomas said, standing up and motioning inside. “Come in?”

The interior of the apartment was different from what Aaron had imagined - not that he spent time picturing the inside of Thomas’ apartment - but was still undeniably Thomas. He couldn’t pinpoint any single thing that made it so, but you couldn’t walk into the space and not know who it belonged to. “Nice place.”

Thomas beamed. “Thank you! James always says I’m too fussy about it, but I tell him that he just doesn’t fully appreciate the finer things in life.” Thomas gestured toward a ceiling high wine cooler. “Wine, for example. It gives him headaches. He’s just not made for this world.” Thomas laughed. “But you’re not here for wine.”

Aaron chuckled. “No, I’m not.” He followed Thomas into the living room and took a seat on the sofa as directed. “So, what’s the lead?”

“Right.” Thomas ran a hand over his curls and looked to the side. “Right. Uh,” Thomas bit his lip, and Aaron tried hard not to stare. “So, fun fact, there is no lead.”

Aaron blinked. “What?”

Thomas’ leg started to bounce in place, the heel of his shoe tapping a pattern against the floor. “You took an early day yesterday, and I was concerned, I guess. You never do that, I mean, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. We’re partners, I need you to be healthy so in case Mr. Grin figures out exactly who’s working his case you can protect me from the big bad serial killer. I need you to be safe in case this psychopath decides to chase us. Yes, that’s it. That’s all. That’s the lead. I worry.” Thomas looked at Aaron, with what was more of a grimace than a smile on his face. Thomas had called him a psychopath. He wasn’t a psychopath. Aaron had done his research long ago. There was a moment before Aaron realized that Thomas was done talking and waiting for Aaron to speak.

“I, um,” Aaron said. “Okay.” Thomas had been worried about him? Had gone out of his way to come up with some excuse to see him on a Saturday? Not once had that possibility crossed his mind. “Okay.” Aaron rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. “Well, I’m fine, as you can tell.”

Thomas nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright.” Aaron turned his head to look out the window. “Is that all? Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Thomas jumped forward, and then seemed to catch himself. “I mean, uh, not if you don’t want to?”

Aaron hesitated, Thomas’ expression hopeful, and thought to himself  _ what’s the harm? _

“You said you have wine?” Aaron asked. Thomas broke out into that huge, sunshine-in-a-bottle smile.

\--------------

When Aaron finally returned home it was after dark. He stumbled into his apartment, two unopened bottles of wine tucked under one arm. He could feel the smile stretched across his face, not having faded a bit during his trip home from Thomas’. 

The lights were on, not late enough that Bells had turned in for the night. He could hear the quiet rhythm of the jazz Bells liked to cook to, and set the bottles of wine on the island. “Hey!” Aaron called into the apartment, turning to look for his roommate.

Bells was hunched over the other side of the island, picking at his pad thai with his chopsticks. Bells looked up, surprised. “Oh, hey. I didn’t expect you back.”

Aaron shrugged. “I did say I’d be back before dinner probably. Sorry. Did I miss dinner?”

“Yours is in the fridge.” Bells poked at his plate again. “Did you have fun with Thomas?”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah, I did actually.” He rested his hand against the wall as he kicked off his shoes. “It’s funny because it turns out there wasn’t a lead, he just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“What?” Bells tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently Thomas is a worrywort, says he gets it from being friends with James for so many years.” Aaron leaned against the island.

Bells nodded, stiffly. “Did you guys end up working on the case?”

“Nope!” Aaron grinned. Maybe it was the wine but he couldn’t stop smiling. “We talked a bit, he made dinner, drank some wine-”

“He made you  _ dinner _ ?” Bells gripped his chopsticks tightly, one end pushed into a piece of chicken.

“Yeah, he made grilled cheese, but with cranberries in it? And five different kinds of cheese.”

“Impressive,” Bells muttered through gritted teeth. Aaron stopped, the memory of Thomas laughing over a griddle fading from his mind.

“Everything okay?” Aaron asked. Bells shoved his plate away from himself and stood.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Aaron stepped toward Bells. “Do you still want to watch a movie?”

Bells looked at him for a second “No,” he said, shaking his head, ”See you in the morning.” Bells turned on his heels and stalked off down the hallway to his room. Aaron heard his door slam from the kitchen. He stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, trying to understand what just happened. Bells  _ loved  _ movie night.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, it was from Thomas.

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Did you get home okay?_ **

Aaron smiled.

**_To: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_Yes, thank you._ **

Aaron held his phone in his hand, an odd disappointment setting in when Thomas didn’t reply. He slowly put his phone away, put Bells’ plate in the sink, and made his way over to the door. For a moment, he looked at Bells’ closed door. Light seeped out from beneath the door and Aaron thought about knocking.

_ He’s probably just tired _ , Aaron thought. It had gotten pretty late. Assuring himself that Bells would be fine in the morning, Aaron turned in for the night.


	5. Kitty Livingston

Sunday passed without any trouble. Before he knew it, Aaron was dressed and headed to work, packed lunch in his bag and coffee in hand. 

Monday morning started as Monday morning did, blessedly free of any sign of Alexander. Aaron had just turned on his computer when the door to his office was slammed open and a newspaper was shoved on his desk. 

He looked up to find Thomas staring at him, brows scrunched together and he looked down at the offensive piece of paper beneath his hand. “Have you read this?”

Aaron looked between Thomas and the paper. “No.”

Thomas looked at him for a second, confused, before he appeared to make the connection. He pushed to paper across the desk closer to Aaron. “It’s Mr. Grin’s most recent murder, front page news, unsurprisingly.”

Aaron grabbed the paper, making a show of reading over it. The headline: ‘ _Mr. Grin Claims New Victim.’_ Underneath the bold words was a set of two pictures: one of Eacker smiling and the other of a stretch of police tape outside a motel room. Aaron pretended to skim the article; no doubt he knew much more than the press did already. He looked up at Thomas. “Huh, that’s interesting.”

Thomas sighed. “Aaron! This is another person we have to add to the victim list!” Thomas turned around and started to pace in the tiny space of his office. “It doesn’t make any sense! I’ve never heard of George Eacker before in my life!”

That was, of course, the moment that Alexander decided to walk in. “Did someone say George Eacker?”

Thomas looked at Alexander and said, “Yeah, do you know him?” at the same time that Aaron said, “Mr. Grin’s newest victim.”

Alexander looked between the two of them before settling on Aaron. “Victim?” 

“Yep,” Aaron handed the paper over. “Found dead in a motel.”

Alexander grabbed the newspaper out of his hand. “Oh my god, you’re kidding me.”

Aaron shook his head. “Nope.”

“Fucking Eacker, man.” Alexander snorted. “Of course he’d be found dead in a motel.”

Thomas yanked the paper from Alexander, causing the coffee in Alexander’s hand to spill down the front of his shirt. Alexander sputtered nonsense, holding out the front of his shirt so as not to get burned. Thomas' face twisted, obviously trying to hold back a smile. “I’d apologize, but-”

Alexander held up his hand. “No, it’s fine, I get it. I’m interrupting with your quality time with Burr.”

Aaron choked on his own coffee. Alexander looked at him and said, “I’ll talk to you about this later.” Alexander waved once and then disappeared down the hallway. 

“Wait!” Thomas called, but Alexander was gone. Thomas sighed. “Fucker.”

“What did you want him for?” Aaron asked, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“Nothing, it just sounded like he knew Eacker,” Thomas replied. Aaron bit his lip, the pen in his hands speeding up. “Make sure to ask him later, since you two are all buddy-buddy or whatever.”

“Buddy-buddy?” Aaron laughed. “We lived together for four years.”

Thomas’ eyes widened. “What? You lived with Hamilton for four years and this has just never come up?”

“I thought you knew.” Aaron shrugged. “It’s not exactly a secret. We were roommates in college, and then just kinda stayed in touch, and now we work in the same building.” Aaron bit down the little bubble of anxiety that welled in his chest. But Thomas just looked at him, muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Aaron looked at Thomas’ back and sighed. “Thomas? Is something wrong?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, it’s just, I don’t know.” Thomas turned back around and sat down across from Aaron. “Just ignore it.”

“Okay.” Aaron took a sip of his coffee. “So, George Eacker? Any ideas on that?” 

“Until we get police reports, we’re a little up the creek without a paddle,” Thomas grumbled. He looked back down at the newspaper, grabbed the front page and pinned it onto a free spot on the wall. Such a commodity was dwindling, sheets of paper, pictures and string lining Aaron’s office. “Placeholder,” Thomas explained. 

\--------------

The next few days were consumed by the death of George Eacker, Thomas desperately trying to find anything to connect Eacker to any of the other victims. Aaron, for his part, desperately trying to  _ keep  _ Thomas from figuring anything out. He successfully steered Thomas away from Eacker’s internet history and kept him focused on Eacker’s habit of picking up prostitutes.

“So he takes this girl back to the motel, she leaves, and a few hours later he’s dead,” Thomas said, pacing back and forth in front of Eacker’s photo. They’d hung up what Thomas liked to call the ‘Post-Grin’ picture, Eacker’s torn up and bloodied face tacked next to his picture from the paper.

Aaron hadn’t realized exactly how bad he’d destroyed Eacker’s face until the first time Thomas had gotten a look and nearly puked in a trash can. Thomas continued to pace. “What’s so special about Eacker? Serial killers work in patterns, yeah? We haven’t been able to distinguish one for his victims, but there had to be something different about Eacker. Why else would his murder have been so much worse that the others? Sands seemed almost peaceful, the smile a neat afterthought - a trademark.” Thomas turned to look at Eacker’s photograph. “This though? I don’t know what to call this.”

Aaron knew what to call it - stress relief. Maybe there wasn’t anything special about Eacker, maybe he had just been having a bad day. Aaron knew the truth, but looking at it as if from an outside perspective certainly did make things seem much more complicated. 

“You sound like a bad t.v. detective,” Aaron said. Thomas stopped, the faintest hint of a blush rising to his face. It was a good look on Thomas, and for once, Aaron didn’t try to force that thought away. He was starting to get used to these odd thoughts, and as long as Aaron kept them in a little corner of his mind where they couldn’t affect him, they could stay.

“I was just thinking aloud,” Thomas protested. Aaron rolled his eyes and caught sight of the time on his laptop.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Aaron said. Thomas looked at the clock on the wall.

“Did you want to start going upstairs?” Thomas asked.

Aaron didn’t want to leave his office - a space he had come to associate with Thomas - but he nodded and said, “we probably should.”

The elevator ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. The tension that had once been electric and impossible to ignore had mellowed out into something familiar, something Aaron had begun to rely on and look forward to. No longer new, but ever present. Thomas was wearing a small smile - a simple quirk to the lip - and Aaron mirrored it, confident with the man standing next to him. For a moment, he wondered what Thomas would do if he stepped just the tiniest bit closer, closing the already minimal space between them.

Before he could even decide to do it, the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. Thomas, like usual, led the way, stopping at Tilghman’s desk. Once again, Tilghman buzzed them in and Aaron was surprised to see Lafayette leaving Washington’s office, for once not wearing his normal, festive grin.

Lafayette paused upon seeing them and shook his head, walking away. Aaron could hear faint, French grumblings as Lafayette jammed the elevator button and jumped inside.

Aaron shot Thomas a confused look, and received an equally bewildered one in return. 

He took in a breath, shook his head, and walked into Washington’s office, Thomas at his side. Washington was seated behind his desk, reading something on the computer screen. Aaron cleared his throat, and Washington looked up and said, “Oh yes, come in, both of you. I know that this week has been particularly interesting for you two.”

They took their seats. Aaron crossed his ankles and said, “new victims do tend to do that to murder cases.”

Both Washington and Thomas snorted. Washington shuffled some papers around on his desk. “So, do either of you have any new ideas?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, it’s infuriating. I thought a new victim might clear up some things, but it’s only made it worse.”

“It’s rather curious,” Aaron said. “George Eacker doesn’t have a connection with much of anything except prostitutes, and none of the other victims have anything to do with sex work to our knowledge.”

Washington nodded, and tapped a finger on the paper in front of him. “That does make things a bit complicated.”

Thomas nodded, opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. Washington looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Yes, Jefferson?” Thomas glanced at Aaron before speaking:

“I just… what if Grin is some sort of vigilante?” Thomas said. Aaron started, looking over at Thomas. “I mean, maybe Eacker did something to a prostitute and Grin took justice into his own hands?”

Washington’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do any of the other victims have criminal pasts?”

Thomas shook his head. “Why would they? If Grin’s going after people never caught… Sands!” Thomas jerked upright in his seat, scooting closer to Washington’s desk. “She was a witness in a murder trial, right? Maybe he thought she did it or was lying or-”

Washington put up one hand, effectively silencing Thomas. “Burr, what do you think of this?”

Aaron paused. From a certain point of view, Thomas was technically right. Aaron had never considered himself a ‘vigilante,’ and maybe from the technical definition he wasn’t, but it wasn’t all that far off.

“It’s something to consider,” Aaron said finally. Thomas grinned at him, then at Washington. Washington looked down at both of them in consideration. Aaron could feel his gaze heavy on the two of them, and once again felt his body start to lock up.

“If you think it’s an appropriate track to pursue, I say go for it,” Washington said. Thomas practically beamed, and Aaron felt Thomas’ excitement wash over him. He caught himself smiling, just a small turn of his mouth, watching Thomas preen under Washington’s praise.

“If he is a vigilante, it could explain the smile thing,” Thomas said. “It’s his calling card, like he’s telling everyone to watch out. He doesn’t need to slash up people’s faces, it’s a stylistic choice. His...” Thomas trailed, thinking.

“Trademark,” Aaron finished. Thomas glanced at him and nodded.

Washington looked between the two of them, chuckled, and said, “I see you two have been getting close.”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas nodded. “Working together in these circumstances does tend to foster a quick friendship.” Thomas caught Aaron’s eyes, and they simply looked at each other with smiles on their faces. There was that rush of affection again, and for the first time, Aaron was almost able to place it. It was familiar to the rush he got before a kill, after he had chosen his victim - not quite the same, but close. Thomas wasn’t a victim, he was something else, something-

“Of course.” Washington cleared his throat, jolting Aaron out of his head. “That does sound about right.” Aaron instantly snapped back to attention, letting his smile disappear and looking over at his boss.

Washington always commanded attention. Aaron was always able to point out where Washington was in a room by presence alone. It was unique, and Washington’s attention, even when split between two people, was enough to make something shake in his chest. Different from Thomas, different from a kill, but still something. Respect, he figured. Deep respect. Nothing else. There were no feelings there for his ridiculously handsome boss. Attraction wasn’t even a feeling, really. More an observation.

Then Washington looked over at Aaron directly, their eyes meeting and once again Aaron felt trapped by that gaze. It carried this direct energy, unlike the cloud of electricity that Thomas seemed to carry around him. Aaron swallowed. Washington was his  _ boss _ . It was inappropriate to spend so much time thinking about the man’s energy, of all things.

But then Washington’s gaze was gone, centered on Thomas for the moment and Aaron missed it. 

The more Aaron thought about why he might miss Washington’s eyes on him, the tighter the ball in his chest became. He looked between Thomas and Washington, noting Thomas’ wide eyes and familiar smile. He’d need to deal with that. Names cycled through his mind, old ones he had filed away years ago, newer ones put there by recent events. It was one of the first that settled in his mind, a girl he had never met but had heard much of: Kitty Livingston.

Once Aaron’s brain settled on a name, he couldn’t do anything to change it. He’d have to find out if she was still in New York. Aaron had a feeling he’d find her on the arm of a wealthy, not particularly handsome, man. She’d never been the type to care about actual worth, only the numbers on the page. He took in a breath to steady himself. Kitty Livingston would be dead by the day’s end, and all would be well.

\--------------

Aaron wondered just what sort of story Thomas would spin for Mrs. Garretson once her murder was reported on. Her face was as pretty as it ever was, covered with a layer of makeup and no doubt reinforced with botox. Aaron frowned as he made the cuts, her skin not moving the way skin should. Kitty Livingston-Garretson might not have cared about her husband’s looks, but she certainly cared about hers.

\--------------

His Saturday morning was as clear and bright as any Saturday morning ever was, ruined only by the vibrations of his phone as Alexander texted him about their monthly brunch date.

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_Burr_ **

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_B u r r_ **

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_B U R R_ **

Aaron sighed, and rolled over in bed to grab his phone. 

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_SIR_ **

He checked the time. It was 9:59 am exactly. Alexander had the habit of waking him one minute before his alarm went off, for no reason other than to make him suffer. Aaron had asked him about it once, and Alexander had laughed and said, “If that one minute is the only thing I get to take from you to ruin your life, I will.” 

**_To: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_I’m up_ **

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_:^)_ **

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_I’ll be there in twenty_ **

Aaron’s alarm went off, the familiar rhythm that made Aaron want nothing more than to turn over, shove his face into his pillow, and scream. But he was a responsible adult, and as such, he rolled the opposite direction and fell to the floor. 

By the time he was out of the shower and dressed, he felt much more awake, and slightly more prepared to face Alexander. Bells waved him out the door, munching on a poptart, sitting on one of the kitchen counters.

Aaron made it to the restaurant first, as usual, taking the same booth seat in the corner. The waitress handed him the menu, Aaron scanned it absentmindedly. He’d memorized his order here a long time ago. The same pictures and words on laminated paper-

“Burr you’re not going to believe this!” Alexander slammed his hands onto the table, making the entire thing shake. Aaron put his menu down and looked up at him flatly.

“Normal people start off with a greeting,” he said. Alexander slid into the booth opposite, mouth already working.

“Do you remember back in college, I tried to get with that one girl - Kitty Livingston?” He asked. Alexander barely gave Aaron time to nod before charging on. “Well guess what I saw on the news this morning? She’s  _ dead _ , Aaron. Murdered! Right in her own home!”

Aaron folded his hands on the table, watching Alexander’s hands fly as he ranted. “Someone said it’s another of Mr. Grin’s murders. Her face was all slashed up. Burr, I can’t believe it. First Eacker, now Kitty?”

“Have you even spoken to Kitty recently?” Aaron asked. Alexander’s jaw worked.

“I mean no, but come on man! Is this guy running out of people in New York to kill or something?” Alexander grabbed a handful of sugar packets from the caddy on the table, anxiously fidgeting and crinkling them between his fingers. “I mean, Eacker was an uneducated ass who just liked to harass people on Twitter, but Kitty didn’t do anything!”

Aaron kept his face neutral, a practiced skill after a lifetime of killing. “Who knows what Grin is thinking?”

Alexander ripped a sugar packet in half, and pushed the spilled sugar across the table to the floor. “They’re following me, Burr. This isn’t a joke. This Mr. Grin is coming after me, personally.”

“Wow.” Aaron nodded. “Your ego has somehow gotten even bigger since I last saw you.”

“It happened in college too!” Alexander leaned forward. “You remember it as well as I do! All those random murders, now this! It’s insane, that’s all I’m saying.”

“You’re right, it is insane.” Aaron watched as Alexander made his way through packet after packet, already thinking about how much extra of a tip he was going to leave the poor waitstaff.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Alexander huffed. “You didn’t back then and you aren’t now.”

Aaron sighed. “There is absolutely no proof that Mr. Grin is connected with you. Believe me, I’d know.” 

Alexander narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, fine, but you’d also be the type to know for certain that there’s a connection and still not tell me just to irritate me.”

“Hamilton,” Aaron said. “We’re not dealing with a college prank war. Mr. Grin is a killer and if he was coming after you, I would tell you. People are  _ dead _ , quite a lot of them. If I had any reason to think you could be in danger, you would know.”

Alexander stared at him for a moment, whatever he was about to say cut off by the waitress coming with their coffees. Alexander stirred a packet of sugar into his mug and huffed. “I still think that you’d hide something from me, tell me that it was better I don’t know.”

“Why would I do that?”

Alexander took a long sip. “Because that’s what you did before.”


	6. Francis Kinloch

Aaron watched as Thomas continued to pace around the room, and Aaron was sure Thomas was bound to wear a hole in the carpet by the end of the case. Thomas dragged his hand down his face and said, “it’s almost there, I can feel the connections beginning to form, but there’s something missing and I don’t know what.”

Thomas was facing away from him, and Aaron used the opportunity to switch the names attached to a couple of the photos around. “I agree,” Aaron said, pinning Seabury’s name under a photo of Francis Kinloch.

“It’s like everytime I turn around the entire case changes!” Thomas threw his hands up in the air, staring at the opposite wall. Aaron hummed his agreement as he secured his ‘adjustments.’ “I can’t wrap my head around it!”

“Maybe you just need a break?” Aaron asked. “It’s getting close to dinner.” The growling of Thomas’ stomach answered for him and Aaron bit back a laugh.

“Maybe,” Thomas responded. Aaron rolled his eyes.

“We could get take-out and work longer-”

As Aaron spoke, his phone screen lit up with the usual evening texts from Bells, telling Aaron what he had made for dinner. Aaron almost groaned aloud. He’d forgotten about Bells in favor of Thomas, again. The hurt expression on Bells’ face came back to him and he let out a sigh.

“What, girlfriend texting?” Thomas asked, voice oddly tight. Aaron shook his head.

“Roommate,” he explained.

“Oh,” Thomas breathed, a smile ghosting his face. Aaron paused for a moment, thinking. He couldn’t blow Bells off again, but gosh darn it if Thomas wasn’t tempting him to stay just a bit longer. He pushed the pin further into the cork. Then he remembered: Bells always made more than enough dinner for two people.

Aaron took in a breath and folded his hands behind his back. “So,” he started. “My roommate made dinner, and he doesn’t know how to cook for two people. Do you just want to come to my apartment? We can keep working on the case, and that way you won’t lose your train of thought as we walk over.”

Thomas’ eyes went wide. “You’re asking me to have dinner at your place?” Thomas then leaned up against the wall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked to the side. “I mean, alright. That’s fine. Whatever.”

Aaron grabbed his phone from the desk and collected his bag, trying to ignore the hammering in his chest. “Grab your things and we can go.”

“Right, yeah,” Thomas muttered. “Just going over to a coworker’s for dinner and work, that’s all.” Aaron didn’t think Thomas meant for Aaron to hear him, and Aaron politely pretended he hadn’t. He waited for Thomas to grab his own bag, let Thomas out the door and locked it behind them. When Aaron turned back around, Thomas was waiting for him, fingers drumming along the strap of his bag. He almost looked like a nervous school boy waiting for his date outside the movie theatre. Aaron chuckled to himself, trying to disguise the sudden nerves.

“We’ll walk, it’s not far,” he said. Aaron wondered for a second if he should text Bells to warn him, but decided not to - Bells would find out soon enough. Aaron figured Bells wouldn’t mind. Thomas followed him out, and after locking the office door, they were on their way. 

Thomas fell into step beside Aaron and said, “you know, I didn’t know you had a roommate.”

“It hasn’t come up, is all,” he replied. “He’s a cake decorator or something like that, so our professional lives don’t really intersect.”

Thomas snorted. “You know, at the end of this case, I might hit him up. We’ll deserve a cake when we finally solve it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Aaron laughed, and pulled his bag higher onto his shoulder. “He might actually do it for free if I tell him what it’s for.”

“I know I haven’t met him yet, but I like your roommate,” Thomas said. 

The walk went by more quickly than usual with Thomas at his side, and it wasn’t long before Aaron was opening his apartment door. Through laughter, Aaron called out into the apartment: “Bells, I’m home!”

“Just by the stove,” Bells called back. “Almost done-”

“I brought Thomas too,” Aaron said, moving out of the way so Thomas could enter. Aaron saw Bells freeze where he was holding a spatula over a frying pan.

“Excuse me?” Bells looked over at the two men entering the apartment. Aaron motioned in his direction for Thomas.

“Thomas, this is my roommate, John Bellamy. Bells, Thomas Jefferson.”

“Hey,” Thomas waved, a gesture that Bells did not return. Instead Aaron swore he saw Bells’ jaw twitch.

“Good to meet you,” he said, face stretching into a smile. “Aaron, could you bring me that can over on the island?” Bells motioned at the aforementioned can with his spatula.

“Coat and shoes can go just by the door, make yourself at home,” Aaron told Thomas before doing as Bells asked. When he stood by the stove, Bells grabbed onto his sleeve with a vise-like grip.

“Why did you bring him home?” Bells hissed. Aaron blinked, looking at his roommate in shock. Bells pulled him a bit closer. “Without telling me you were bringing a guest?”

“Oh, sorry,” Aaron said. “I figured you’d be okay with it.” Bells’ eye twitched, but he let out a sigh. He let go of Aaron’s sleeve and patted the fabric flat again.

“It’s fine, I’ve got enough. Next time, just let me know, okay?”

“Of course. You’re the best Bells,” Aaron said, giving the other man a quick smile before turning back to Thomas.

“Everything okay?” Thomas asked, awkwardly standing with one shoe on and one off.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Thomas smiled wide, and Aaron relaxed, forgetting about Bells. Thomas pulled off his other shoe and said, “Great, I’d hate to ruin your night with an angry roommate.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Aaron said. He leaned in closer to Thomas and whispered, “besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bells angry. One time I even tried to make him angry to see if I could - did everything I knew he hated on purpose. Nothing phased him.”

Thomas let out a low whistle. “Wild. If I had a roommate do that to me I probably would have kicked them out within a day or two.” Kicked out and found dead in an alley a couple days later, Aaron’s mind supplied.

“I’ve been fortunate enough to never have to kick a roommate out,” Aaron said. He started to walk to the table that served as the dining room. “We can set up here. Have you made any mental connections since we left the office?”

Hunched over the table with Thomas, Aaron lost track of time. Maybe it was something about the new setting, but Thomas had started this habit of brushing Aaron’s arm with his own and leaning over Aaron’s shoulder and generally invading Aaron’s personal space. If it had been anyone else chewing on a pen cap while hovering over Aaron’s ear, he would have found it exceedingly annoying. But he was too distracted by the warmth radiating off Thomas to think it bothersome.

“Make one of those comparison charts between Livingston and Sands, would you?” Thomas asked, peering over Aaron to look at his laptop. Aaron nodded, not trusting even his highly controlled voice at the moment, and started plugging in the women's details into a t-chart. Thoma leaned over closer, practically draped over Aaron’s back. Aaron could feel the tendrils of Thomas’ hair tickling his neck he was that close.

“Did either of you want water…” Bells’ voice made Thomas jump, Aaron could feel the other man startle from the way Thomas was plastered against his back.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Thomas said. “Aaron?” Aaron kept his eyes glued to his laptop screen. Turning around meant maybe facing Thomas in such close quarters and he knew that would be a bad idea.

“I’m okay,” Aaron said, focusing all his attention on typing.

“Oh, alright. Just checking,” Bells said. Aaron could hear him retreat farther into the kitchen and fiddle with something on the counter top. Thomas turned back to the computer and suddenly the loudest noise in Aaron’s ear was the quiet sounds of Thomas’ breathing. 

Aaron moved the mouse across the screen and said, “there don’t seem to be many similarities, and the differences aren’t showing any clues either. And even if there was some sort of pattern, I feel that the kills were too long apart to say anything for certain if we can’t find that same pattern anywhere else.”

“You’re right.” Thomas moved to get a better look at the screen, chin now resting on Aaron’s shoulder. “Of course you’re right. None of this makes sense. Serial killers have patterns, especially ones with such an obvious trademark as Mr. Grin.”

Aaron chuckled and said, “Thomas, if it made sense, we wouldn’t have a job.”

“Ugh,” Thomas groaned. “You know, I almost had something figured out, the hint of an idea. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but there was some invisible string I was sensing.”

“Oh?” Aaron asked, not letting himself tense up in case Thomas felt it. “Why the past tense?”

“One, I forgot,” Thomas said.

Aaron finally gave in and turned his head to look at Thomas, faces almost touching. He inhaled a sharp breath, and then asked, “what’s number two?”

“Francis Kinloch,” Thomas replied. Thomas’ eyes were boring into his own, and Aaron’s heart beat quick in his chest. “Francis Kinloch was some rich kid from South Carolina with a European college education. If it’s hard finding similarities between Sands and Livingston, adding Kinloch to the mix just makes it impossible.”

Aaron remembered Kinloch. Another one who just happened to do the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had been a decent enough fellow, he was just a reminder of old times Aaron hadn’t wanted hanging around. “If we follow the vigilante idea, maybe he was involved in… drugs? Rich kids like to get high and do stupid things.”

“Half the vigilante idea revolves around most of the victims having secret second lives,” Thomas sighed. “Making that kind of assumption makes every murderer a possible vigilante.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s gotta be something Aaron. Some magic puzzle piece that makes it all make sense.”

“You really sound like a T.V. detective,” Aaron replied. “Keep this up and James Patterson will write a novel about you.”

Thomas snorted, a slight smile flitting across his face. “When’s dinner, I’m getting a hunger headache.”

Aaron blinked, suddenly remembering why Thomas was even at his apartment in the first place. “I’ll ask, it shouldn’t be long.”

He contemplated yelling into the kitchen, knowing Bells would hear him just fine. But, Bells wasn’t happy with him and it was best to soothe his irritated roommate. Aaron shifted out from under Thomas, immediately missing the warmth. 

Aaron walked into the kitchen, hand rubbing the side of his neck that Thomas’ face had been so close to. Bells was standing in front of the stove, spinning the spatula in his hand, with a plate full of sandwiches on the counter next to him. “Hey Bells,” Aaron said. “Is there any food ready yet? I think Thomas needs to eat something.”

Bells stiffened, but he jerked his head to the plate. “Yeah, Thomas can have some of a sandwich to hold him, I guess.”

“Thanks Bells, you’re the best,” Aaron said, grabbing the plate and returning to Thomas. He set the plate down next to a closed file. “Alright, I think these are just a fancy grilled cheese. Bells usually tells me, but I don’t think he’s feeling well.”

Thomas shot him a weird look, but reached for a sandwich. “They look great, thank Bells for me.”

“I will, besides,” Aaron said, “you need to be in top mental condition to work on this.”

Thomas laughed and said, “I appreciate how much you care. Look at you, making sure I’m fed so I can think properly.”

There was the clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen, but Aaron ignored it in favor of looking back at his computer, focusing on the text but not trying to make any connections. Bells finally came into the room, another plate of sandwiches in hand. Bells sat across from Aaron and said, “I normally am much more the sit down for dinner type of person, but I figured napkins were easier than plates and silverware since you two are working.”

“This is great,” Thomas said. “Thank you so much.” 

Bells nodded. “Don’t worry about it, a friend of Aaron’s is a friend of mine.” Bells looked at Thomas, brow furrowed just so slightly. If Thomas noticed Bells’ searching gaze, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just reached over and grabbed another sandwich.

Thomas was sitting in his own seat, and Aaron wanted an excuse for Thomas to look over his shoulder again. He tapped his fingers on the table and then looked over to Bells, “hey, do you think we have any decent wine?” Thomas liked wine. 

“We might have a bottle or two of red,” Bells said, standing up. “Let me check.”

Bells went back into the kitchen, and Thomas pressed against his side and said, “Wine on a work night? How adventurous.”

Aaron snorted. “We need it.” 

Thomas made a show of looking over the papers spread across the table and said, “you’re not wrong.”

Footsteps signalled Bells’ return, and Aaron looked up just in time to see Bells jerk forward, spilling the glasses of wine in his hands onto Thomas’ white shirt. 

All three of them were frozen, but Bells quickly jumped into action, grabbing a napkin and bending down to dab at Thomas’ shirt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to. Oh no, it’s red wine, I’ve ruined your shirt. This is terrible.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas shook his head and settled his hands on Bells’ shoulders. “It’s just a stain. Do you have a stain stick or something I can put on it?”

Bells nodded and said, “I’ll go get it! We also have a washing machine - I can do a quick wash to get the worst of it out.”

Thomas glanced at Aaron, lips pursed in thought, then shrugged. “That’s fine with me.” Before Aaron knew it, Thomas was sliding off his wine-soaked shirt. He pushed the fabric into Bells’ waiting hands. Aaron felt every ounce of air escape his lungs at the sight of Thomas’ arms. Aaron took a sip of wine, trying to distract himself.

Thomas looked down, only to find his undershirt had also gotten stained. And then it too was coming off and fricking heck. Aaron almost choked on his mouthful of wine. Thomas handed his undershirt to a stunned, wide-eyed Bells.

Bells stood up, stained fabric clutched tight to his chest. He said, “it shouldn’t be too long,” and scurried away from them. 

“That was weird,” Thomas said. 

Aaron took a sip of wine. “A little.”

“So,” Thomas said, moving back to leaving against Aaron’s side, “the case.”

“Right,” Aaron nearly choked out. “The case.” Where Thomas’ warmth had been a comfort before, with fewer layers separating them, it made Aaron want to melt into Thomas’ side and stay there.

The hours ticked by, Bells’ flitting around the dining table as Thomas continued to come up with ideas and Aaron continued to shoot them down in a delicate manner. At some point, Aaron found himself rubbing his eyes only to open them and find Bells passing him a mug of still steaming tea. He gave Bells a smile as he gently sipped on it.

Bells smiled back, then looked up a Thomas. “Sorry, there was only enough for one cup,” he said, holding his own mug to his chest. 

Thomas nodded and said, “of course.”

Bells wandered away again, and Aaron set his mug down when Thomas pressed even closer, hand trailing down his arm to rest on Aaron’s hand. “So,” Thomas said, voice low, “Aaron, I can’t help but wonder...” Thomas leaned in closer, and when Aaron turned his head, there were only centimeters separating their faces. Aaron could smell the faint wine on his breath and found himself trapped in that dark gaze again.

Aaron licked his lips and asked, “what can’t you help but wonder?” If his brain was working properly, he might have kicked himself for his awkward phrasing but as it was, the words just tumbled out.

Thomas tilted his head slightly, and came closer. “Well, a great many things, but right now-”

A bundle of white fabric was thrown at Thomas’ head, causing him to pull away. Aaron shook off the disappointment and looked at Bells. “The laundry is done, I’m assuming?”

“Yep!” Bells smiled wide. “I got all of the stain out, too!”

Bells was right, the shirt that Thomas was pulling over his head was as white as it could ever be. Thomas shoved his hand into one arm of the shirt and said, “it looks great, thanks.”

“Anytime!” Bells replied, eyes sparkling.

Aaron turned back to the table instead of letting his mind focus on how much he didn’t need Thomas to put his shirt back on. “So,” he checked the time, “I hate to kick you out, but it’s probably time to get going.”

Thomas sighed and said, “probably.” Thomas came and stood behind Aaron, hands on his shoulders, leaning over. “Well, it doesn’t look like we got much done, but there’s always tomorrow.”

“Of course.” 

Bells stepped forward with Thomas’ bag and coat in hand, “here’s your coat and stuff, thought you might need it.”

“Thanks again.” The hands on his shoulders squeezed once before letting go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aaron. Night!”

Aaron nodded. “Night, Thomas.”

“Night, Thomas,” Bells repeated, voice flat. Aaron payed him no mind, he watched Thomas head down their apartment hallway until he disappeared down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just thought I'd throw in here that I'm running a gift exchange! Check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Hamilton_Flash_Gift_Exchange_2k17)! :^))


	7. Thomas Jefferson

Something was off.

It was the Friday after what Aaron now referred to as ‘The Shirtless Thomas Incident’ and something was wrong. They hadn’t spoken of it, and Thomas kept sending him these glances that made Aaron wanted to throttle the man until he said what was on his mind.

He took in a deep breath, steadying himself as he straightened the papers in front of him. He didn’t want to kill Thomas, not really. He was just impatient, was all, frustrated. Aaron looked up at Thomas, who took the opportunity to stare at the wall opposite him.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked, not for the first time that day. Thomas shook his head emphatically, almost over doing it.

“Yeah! Peachy keen!” Thomas parroted, arms crossed over his chest. “Fantastic. Just Wonderful.”

Aaron sighed and said, “happy to hear it.” Something buzzed under his skin. He’d need to deal with that, now wasn’t the time and yet every moment that went without Thomas giving him a clear answer, it was getting worse.

In an attempt to disperse the energy in his body, Aaron stood from his desk, chair scraping against the floor. “I’m getting coffee. Want some?”

Thomas nodded, again much too quickly, and Aaron left. His brain was in overdrive, swirling with thoughts as he made his way down to the break room. Someone had just brewed a fresh pot, so the coffee still steamed as Aaron poured two cups. Six sugars, four packets of the vanilla creamer, and _two_ straws for Thomas, black for Aaron. At least there was no fear of mixing their cups up, Thomas’ looked like slightly dirty milk rather than coffee.

Aaron carried their drinks back to the office, not caring how the heat burned into the palms of his hands. Maybe this would serve to help Thomas relax, let Aaron see the slight grin he had become so fond of. Aaron nudged open the door to find Thomas sitting down at the desk, head in his hands.

He blinked and closed the door behind him. Aaron took a careful step forward, and Thomas didn’t look up. He set the mugs down on the desk, and took a seat, clearing his throat when Thomas still didn’t move.

“I got the coffee,” Aaron said. Thomas jumped, looking up first at him, and then at the two drinks. “Yours is on the left. Even remembered both straws.”

Thomas reached out, hands curling around the cup. Aaron watched as Thomas sipped experimentally, and was rewarded with a crack of a smile. He reached for his own mug, satisfied with his efforts -

“I love you,” Thomas breathed. Aaron froze, hand halfway to his mug.

“Excuse me?” Aaron asked, feeling his eyes widen ever so slightly. Thomas looked at him contentedly for a moment, and then it must have hit him what he’d said aloud. It was almost cartoonish, the way Thomas’ eyes blew open and his jaw dropped.

“Oh shit,” Thomas said. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the ticking of the clock as both men searched the other for a reaction.

Aaron stood up, hand still outreached toward the mug, and announced, “I’m taking my lunch. Good bye.” He turned away from Thomas, grabbed his bag, and scurried out the door. Blood rushed in his ears, and he thought he heard his name said behind him.

This was not a part of the plan. Aaron’s chest grew tighter, his hands clenched around the strap of his bag and his jaw was so tight it felt like he was going to shatter his own teeth. He passed people in the hallway, lawyers and interns stopping to watch him go past. He felt like the entire office was watching him; every set of eyes could see what had happened just by looking at him.

That didn’t matter. What mattered was that he needed to take care of this. Now. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and straightened his jacket. The air was cool when he opened the doors and stepped out onto the street. He forced himself to breathe steadily. Aaron could lose himself in the crowd, melt into it. The flow of the people going about their day served to calm him, allowing him to fall into a routine.

His hands flexed at his sides. Not calm. Aaron was not calm. Still tense. He really needed to deal with that. He wasn’t prepared. He bit at his lip, the skin tugging between his teeth. He hadn’t prepared for this, thought he’d be able to last a little bit longer. He didn’t have his knives, his coat. Nothing. He’d have to be careful.

The photo album of emergency targets - the one starting to grow thin - flipped through the pages at high speed. His brain couldn’t settle on just one face. None of them stuck in his head, he couldn’t pick. There are too many, flashing too quickly, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t pick, couldn’t-

“Watch where you’re going, jackass!” Someone shouted, and a second later Aaron realized he was on the ground. He looked up at whoever he must have knocked into, an apology on his lips, but stopped short. He recognized the man looming above him. The mental photo book froze and flipped back a few pages.

Charles Lee.

“What are you staring at?” Lee spat. Aaron felt himself break out into the smallest of smiles. “Oh god, you made me spill my coffee.”

What good luck Aaron had been graced with. Usually, his kills were more meditated, steps of preparation going into every aspect of the process. At the very least, Aaron had to go _to_ his targets. Today was a different day. He shook his head and said, “I’m incredibly sorry about that, sir.”  He stood up and offered Lee his hand. “Let me buy you a new one.”

“Burr?” Lee’s eyes widened with recognition before settling into something unimpressed, but Aaron didn’t need Lee’s regard. He just needed twenty minutes and isolation. Lee’s lip quirked upward in annoyance. “Fine. It’s the least you can do.”

Aaron just nodded, slipping his hand back into his pocket. “There’s a Starbucks that way,” he offered.

Lee nodded, sneer still on his face, and fell into step beside Aaron. They walked in silence, Aaron keeping his eyes open for the first opportunity he had to get Lee alone. For the first time, the crowd was a hindrance rather than a boon. He didn’t have planning on his side, but he did seem to have some measure of luck.

The sign of the Starbucks was visible in the distance, but coming up before that was the dark entrance of one of the alleyways New York had made famous. Now, all he had to do was get Lee down it and to leave it clean as a whistle.

Aaron focused on the rhythm of his steps on the concrete, thinking about the narrowing distance between himself and Lee and the path they’d have to turn down to. He nodded to himself before putting his foot in front of Lee’s and using the man’s surprise at being caught off-balance to shove him down the alley.

They were still too close to the crowd, but Lee was groaning on the ground in front of him, and it seemed almost too good to be true. He spared but a single glance behind him, but no one on the street proper even looked their way.

“What the hell man -” Lee was cut off by a swift kick to the stomach. Aaron hooked his hands underneath Lee’s arms and dragged him further down the alley, into the darker shadows and behind a dumpster. Lee cursed and struggled, but years of his craft made Aaron’s upper body strong.

Aaron found it very simple to pull Lee down the alley, and when he was sure they wouldn’t attract attention, Aaron pulled Lee up far enough to clamp his arm around Lee’s neck. Lee fought harder than most - he clawed and twisted in Aaron’s hold like a cat - but even the strongest eventually started to fade. He could feel Lee’s throat work for air, his mouth gaping and gasping breathlessly as Aaron simply waited for it to be over.

As Lee took his last breaths, Aaron felt the tension leave his shoulders. Lee’s fingers clutched at his arm, wrinkling the lines of his sleeve, no doubt. It was worth it. And then Lee’s grip faltered, faded and his hands fell limply to his sides. As Aaron held on just a little longer to ensure death, his eyes cast about for anything he could use in place of a knife.

A logical part of him said that trying to replicate his usual grin without a knife was difficult, time-consuming, and likely dangerous. Aaron listened to the part of him acting on ritual and impulse, his eyes alighting on an old beer bottle lying by one of the buildings.

There’d be no way to get a clean cut, but it’d have to do. Aaron let Lee’s body drop to the ground and went to pick up the bottle. He looked at it for a moment, taking in the worn off label. He walked a couple steps and hit the bottle against the wall. Some small shards of glass stuck into the skin of his hand. He shrugged, and went back to Lee, eyeing a particular point on the broken bottle - long, jagged, sharp. It would work.

Little trails of blood ran down his hand as he crouched over Lee’s face. Glancing up one last time to make sure they were ignored by the mass, Aaron hooked the flimsy skin of Lee’s cheek with the edge of the broken bottle. Glass made a fairly good replacement, little glittering shards getting stuck along the edges of the cuts as Aaron went.

Lee’s blood pooled on the ground and tiny droplets of Aaron’s mixed into it. At least it was getting covered up. Aaron was sure to give Lee’s body as much distance as he could manage, he could not afford even a single splotch of blood on his clothes.

When Aaron finally pulled away, Lee’s face was horrific with tiny glass cuts adding to the carnage around the smile itself. Aaron took a few steps back and looked down at his improvised knife. The edges shone with dark red blood, and Aaron let himself admire it before winding up and throwing it against the wall.

The already broken bottle shattered, raining blood-stained shards onto the ground. Breaking it served only one purpose: slowing down the police and forensics team. The harder Aaron made it, the less likely they would be able to separate any of his own DNA from Lee’s. To this end, he also kicked loose dirt over the glass shards, Lee’s face, neck and the rapidly expanding pool of blood.

Aaron looked around again, moving in circles. No matter how much better he felt in that moment, if he didn’t take the utmost care, it’d all go to shit as soon as he blinked an eye. He nodded to himself. Everything was as he wanted it to be. His bag and suit were dark enough to hide any blood that might have splattered onto him. It’d be fine.

With one final glance toward Lee, he walked down the alley and back into the crowd. The familiar thrum of the people rang through his bones, and a smile spread across his face. Not a single person even spared him a glance. It worked, the tension that had been plaguing him was gone. Laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he didn’t try to shove it down.  In place of the roaring anxiety and muddled thoughts, one thing was clear in Aaron’s mind:

Thomas said he loved him.

And Aaron loved him back.

When Aaron returned to the office, it was with a spring in his step and a good feeling throughout his body. He could feel himself grinning, and he didn’t care. He felt weightless, his head clear and his heart thrumming in his chest. He strode up to his office door, ready to throw it open and walk back to Thomas.

Except when he did, Thomas wasn’t inside. The entire room was devoid of life. Their mugs of coffee sat abandoned on Aaron’s desk. Aaron felt his smile start to slip. Maybe Thomas had gone for lunch? Maybe he was in the bathroom. If Aaron waited here, Thomas was sure to return. Wasn’t he?

A gnawing doubt started to creep into Aaron’s stomach. He jumped when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. “Looking for Jefferson?”

Aaron spun on one heel to find Alexander standing behind him, nursing his famously large mug of coffee. Aaron raised a hand to his chest and asked, “what are you doing here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alexander said, shrugging. “But, if you’re looking for Jefferson, he’s with Madison.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said, taking off down the hallway.

“What’s the rush?!” Alexander called after him, “And what the hell happened to your hand?!” but Aaron was already turning the corner. Madison’s office was almost the whole building away, towards the front, but Aaron felt like it took him only moments to reach the door.

It stood, cracked open, and as Aaron reached to open it, he could hear Thomas speaking inside. “James, you don’t understand. The _look_ on his face!” Aaron froze, fingers tight around the door knob. “I’ve ruined everything, I know it! He’s never going to want to see me again, let alone _work_ with me!”

Aaron pushed open the door and was greeted with the sight of the back of Thomas’ head and Madison’s wide eyes. Madison tapped his fingers on the desk and said, “Thomas, I’m sure it’s not that bad. We both know Burr isn’t the most likable of people, no matter how much you like to lie to yourself. He probably just doesn’t know how to deal with the human range of emotion.”

There was a part of Aaron that felt he should be offended, but he had more important things to focus on than himself right now. He took another step forward and placed his hand on the back of Thomas’ chair.  

Thomas leaned his head back, surprised. “Burr?” His voice was small, smaller than Aaron had ever heard it.

“Yep,” Aaron said, smiling. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Thomas’ cheek. “C’mon, we have work to do.” Somewhere behind him came a sound like someone performing a spit take. When Aaron pulled back, he saw the same shocked, gaping expression on Thomas’ face. It was cute, in an odd way.

“Did that just happen?” Thomas asked, bewildered.

Aaron smiled wider, and from behind him an irritatingly familiar voice called out, “it did, and I really wish I hadn’t seen it.”

Aaron shook his head. “Go away, Hamilton.”

“Fine, I see where I’m not wanted.” Aaron glanced back for just a moment to catch Alexander stalking away, a fresh coffee stain down the front of his shirt. Almost instantly, his attention was drawn back to Thomas when he felt a warm hand covering his own.

He looked up at Madison and said, “Excuse us, we really must get back to the case.”

“Of course,” Madison replied, a weird look in his eyes.

Thomas’ hand fit perfectly in his, and Aaron fought not to bounce his step as they made their way to his office. Aaron pulled Thomas down the hallway, the taller man still seemingly in a daze and staring at their conjoined hands. Aaron had left his door hanging wide open, and for the first time, he didn’t mind. He pushed Thomas inside, shutting the door behind them.

Aaron reached for the mug of coffee that was still sitting on his desk and took a sip. It was cold. He set it back down, and when he looked up Aaron found Thomas standing mere inches away from him. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Thomas said, eyes wide, reaching for Aaron’s wrist. “So, Aaron, uh-”

“Yes Thomas?”

“Is your hand okay?”

Aaron blinked and looked down; his hand was still covered in blood. Huh. He pulled a napkin from his desk drawer and said, “Yeah, it’s fine. I fell; I must have caught it on something. I’ll clean it up later.”

“Right, so, back to, uh, this.” Thomas looked at him for a moment, eyes searching, and after a moment’s hesitation, bent down to press the lightest kiss to his lips. Aaron stopped, surprised but pleasantly so. It lasted only a moment before Thomas pulled away, eyes searching Aaron’s face. In the moment of silence that stretched between them, Aaron’s mind finally caught up with everything that happened.

Aaron nodded, answering Thomas’ unspoken question. Thomas’ smile returned in full for the first time in days, and the man leaned down again. The second kiss chaste still, but this time Aaron returned it, pressing up into Thomas. One of Thomas’ hands found its way to the back of Aaron’s head, holding him still as they kissed.

They stood there, breaking apart simply to gasp for air as each and every kiss turned just the slightest bit more forceful, more passionate. Eyes screwed shut, arms around Thomas’ neck, Aaron felt like he was flying. Thomas was hot against his body, twice his height and almost enveloping him in his arms.

With his heart singing joyous praises, Aaron didn’t hear the knock at his office door, didn’t hear it open at all until someone began to speak.

“Burr? Jefferson? Alex said you’d -” the person cut off with a strange noise. Thomas and Aaron leapt apart, heads snapping to see who caught them. Aaron felt his stomach plummet as he took in the imposing figure of his boss hovering in the doorway.

“Washington, sir,” Thomas croaked out. Washington’s hand tightened against the doorframe, expression unreadable.

“Dinner tonight’s canceled,” Washington said and spun away from them. Thomas glanced at Aaron, panic in his eyes, and Aaron could do nothing but stare back. His brain was still trying to process what Washington had seen, let alone what should be done about it.

Washington strode away from the door, and Aaron caught a glimpse of Lafayette standing on the opposite side of the hallway. Lafayette opened his mouth to speak, but Washington was already leading him forcefully away. Soon, Aaron and Thomas were left staring at an empty hallway.

“...We’re so fired,” Thomas muttered.


	8. Lafayette

Once, when Aaron was a boy, he had climbed one of his uncle’s trees to the very top, just to see what the neighborhood looked like from that perch. He had made it to the topmost branch before his foot had slipped and he’d been sent tumbling to the ground. Hitting the dirt had been painful, but in the moment before, while he was falling, Aaron had felt an exhilaration he'd never felt before in the eleven years leading up to it.

Just _thinking_ about Thomas now felt kinda like that. Dizzyingly breathtaking, heart-racing, but all in the best way. He smiled down at his phone where Thomas had sent him a long, rambling text about some dream he’d had last night.

“Aaaaroon?” Bells sang, waving a hand in front of his face to snap Aaron out of his blissful reverie. Aaron blinked, looking up from his phone. “There you are. I _asked_ if you wanted blueberries or strawberries with your crêpe.”

“Um, blueberries,” Aaron said, glancing down at his phone when it buzzes in his hand. Thomas texted in paragraphs, full of words written in capitals and multiple exclamation marks.

“Who’s got all your attention this morning, hm?” Bells asked, voice light, yet hard as he stood at the stove.

“Thomas,” Aaron answered, going to reply to Thomas’ rambling texts.

“Oh,” was Bells’ reply. “Why are you texting Thomas on a Saturday?”

Aaron shrugged and looked at the bubble signaling Thomas’ typing. “Why wouldn’t I be texting Thomas on a Saturday?”

“I don’t text my coworkers on Saturdays.” Bells tapped his spatula against the countertop, but Aaron was too busy reading and rereading Thomas’ last text to pay any attention to the man.

“But you’re not dating your co-workers, are you?” Aaron looked up, raising a brow. “It’s a little different, I’d imagine.”

Bells stilled, falling silent. For a long moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were the gentle frying of batter and the keyboard tapping from Aaron’s phone. “What?” Bells asked, quietly.

“Hm? Oh.” Aaron glanced up briefly. “Thomas and I are dating.” And then his eyes were back on his phone where Thomas’ last text came through. Aaron didn’t see Bells’ hand tighten around the spatula to the point his knuckles whitened.

**_From: Thomas Jefferson:_ **

**_So, did you maybe want to go to brunch with me? Tomorrow? Like, Official First Date and all._ **

Aaron felt his heart flutter in his chest. He sent back a ‘what time?’ text, and waited, clutching his phone in his hand.

“How?” Bells asked.

“What do you mean, how?” Aaron asked, absentmindedly. “We kissed, and that was that.”

There was the sound of something hitting the floor, but Aaron still didn’t look up. Bells cleared his throat and said, “you kissed and ‘that was that’? A kiss does not a relationship make, Aaron.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that, you know.” Aaron looked up, annoyed. “We’ve become quite close.”

Bells hissed, and Aaron was startled by his resemblance to a cat, and yelled across the small kitchen, “He’s just after you for sex, Aaron! Can’t you see? You’re convenient! He’s going to use you and then once the case is over it’ll be bye-bye Thomas!”

Aaron froze. _Bells did not just..._ He took in a deep breath and set his phone down. “Jonathan,” Aaron said. “I understand that this may have come as a surprise considering I haven’t dated often in the past, and I also understand that change can be difficult. However, that was out of hand.” He clenched his hands into fists. “Thomas might find me physically attractive, but there is more to it than that, I assure you.”

Bells shook his head. “Don’t come crawling back to me when he proves you wrong.” There was an odd gleam to Bells’ eyes that Aaron didn’t recognize.

He took in another deep breath, trying to steady himself. Aaron liked to think he was past the pain words could bring, but sometimes - _sometimes_ \- that belief was proven false. “He’s not going to.” He grabbed his phone and stood up. “Now, I’m going to go. I might see you this evening, I might not. Don’t worry about me.”

Aaron grabbed his jacket and walked out of the apartment without a second thought. It was not until he hit the sidewalk that he realized that he had no idea on where to go for the night. There was nothing stopping him from turning around on his heel and going back to the apartment to lock himself in his room, but Bells would be there and would wait for him to do exactly what.

Aaron wasn’t someone who shared many details of himself, but after years of living together, certain facts could be picked up on. He just hadn’t expected Bells of all people to throw something like that back in his face.

He looked down at his phone and saw two unread messages - one from Thomas and one from Alexander. Aaron smiled to himself. Alexander. How could he have forgotten about Alexander? He had been planning on meeting up with him for a while now - he needed new names, and Eliza had been pestering him about not seeing her.

**_To: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_Hello. Are you and Eliza home?_ **

Even if they weren’t, the subway ride over would be good for his mind.

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_Just woke up. If you’re in my apartment, don’t come in the bedroom._ **

**_To: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_I’ll be there in around twenty._ **

**_To: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_Why would I be in your apartment?_ **

**_From: Alexander Hamilton:_ **

**_I don’t know why you do anything_ **

Aaron chuckled to himself. Despite everything, Alexander could always be relied on to annoy him at the very least. He opened the text from Thomas - they’d be meeting for brunch at eleven at a cafe closer to the office.

He rode the subway to the Hamilton apartment in silence. He kept his eyes glued to to the opposite window. Aaron shouldn’t be here right now. He _should_ be back in his apartment, eating breakfast with Bells. They should be chatting about work or their plans for the day. Not… whatever the heck that was this morning.

Aaron got off at the right stop and made his way up to the Hamiltons’ building. Just _what_ had gotten into Bells? There was being a good friend and voicing concerns, and then there was… _that_. Perhaps Bells was just stressed. Aaron didn’t make a habit of inquiring into Bells’ life too much.

He pushed the concern down and raised his hand to knock on the Hamiltons’ door. Eliza answered with a welcoming smile on her face. “Aaron! It’s been too long!” She stepped to the side. “Come in, come in!” Eliza closed the door behind him after he walked in and wrapped her arms around his waist before he could protest. “It’s so nice to see you!”

Aaron laughed. “It’s nice to see you too. I’d be here more often if Alexander didn’t make it his mission to drive me away.”

“Burr!,” Alexander called from the sofa, typing on the computer in his lap. “Leave my wife alone, go get your own!”

“Hello Hamilton,” Aaron said, slowly disentangling himself from Eliza.

“Or, I mean, you got that boy of yours now,” Alexander said. “I say ‘boy’ because Jefferson is far from a grown adult with -” Eliza cut him off with a clearing of her throat.

“Alex,” she said, her voice a sharp reprimand. “Leave Jefferson alone.” She turned back to Aaron. “I’m sure your Thomas is just lovely.” A warm feeling spread through Aaron’s chest at hearing Eliza call Thomas _his._ “In fact, I’d love to get to know him outside of Alex’s complaints.”

“No you don’t,” Alexander said, but Eliza ignored him.

“So, what brings you around here?” She asked.

Aaron raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I’m hiding from my roommate?”

Alexander looked up. “Bellamy? What he’d do?”

“It was bizarre.” Aaron shrugged. “Thomas came up in conversation during breakfast and it just devolved from there. I figured it was easier to leave and calm down separately then deal with it.”

Eliza and Alexander shared a look, and Eliza stepped forward to place her hand on his arm. “C’mon, do you want some coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great, thank you.”

Aaron remained with the Hamiltons for the rest of the day, floating around them as the couple goes about their day. It was a lazier day for them - Alexander typing away at his computer, Eliza flitting about, occasionally answering the phone and talking to someone for a bit. It was nice, pleasant. Domestic.

They were comfortable around each other in a way Aaron realized he wanted, with Thomas.

At one point, after it had gotten late, Eliza brought out a pillow and a blanket and said, “Alex has assured me our couch is quite comfortable, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

It wasn’t too bad, and Aaron awoke feeling refreshed, without the presence of Bellamy waiting to loom over his shoulder while he ate his morning meal. He kept his breakfast light, knowing he’d be eating brunch with Thomas soon. Despite the anxious boiling in his stomach, time passed fairly quickly and Aaron said his goodbyes to Alexander and Eliza.

Aaron made his way to the cafe Thomas had chosen, a little mom-and-pop place Aaron had never been to before. He spotted Thomas already sitting down through the front window, and Aaron could already feel a smile start to flit across his face. He pushed the door open and crossed the store to Thomas’ table.

“Hey,” Aaron said, and Thomas jumped, looking up from the menu. Thomas broke out into a smile, the one that made Aaron’s stomach flip.

“Hey!” Thomas said. Aaron took the seat across from Thomas. “How are you?”

“Good, and you?”

“Fantastic,” Thomas replied, “now that you’re here.”

Aaron felt his face grow hot, but thankfully Thomas picked up his menu and started to ramble about the pastries. “They’re one of those places that their pastries don’t seem that great because they’re not that flashy but then you bite into one and it’s like you’ve been transported back to the French countryside, it’s insane. Their tarts are some of the best I’ve found, and their bread is to-die-for. If you’re into that sort of thing, anyway. They have the usual brunch menu too, and their sandwiches are good because bread. I usually stick to whatever their special pastry is and a cappuccino.”

“Sure,” was Aaron’s eloquent reply, simply lost in the sound of Thomas’ voice. His eyes scanned the menu. “I’ll just have whatever you are.”

“Then I hope you enjoy almond croissants.” Thomas set his menu down onto the table. “They’re a favorite of mine.”

“We’ll just have to see then,” Aaron said as Thomas waved their waitress over.

\---------------

“So, the… it’s… nice weather out today?” Thomas offered, nervously stirring soup with one hand. Aaron glanced over, catching sight of his boyfriend’s nervous smile. Thomas held the spoon upside down, the handle portion stuck into his food. Washington just hummed from the other side of the booth and Aaron silently took the spoon from Thomas, turned it over and handed it back.

“Good, uh, good sporting weather,” Thomas continued, trying desperately to fill the silence. Washington’s eyes bored into them from across the table, and Aaron found himself staring into the soup in front of him. “You could play a rousing game of tennis or a lovely round of golf, I suppose!”

Aaron sighed and reached a hand over to pat Thomas’ arm. “Yes, I suppose you could.” He turned to look at their boss. “What are your thoughts on the Lee murder, sir?”

Washington raised a brow. “Talking murder over dinner? How charming.”

“Is that not why we’re here, sir?” Aaron replied. Thomas elbowed him in the ribs. “Unless I’m misunderstanding the situation.”

Washington said nothing, staring him down. Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, going to go to the bathroom.”

Thomas slid out of the booth, leaving Aaron alone with Washington. He blew air over his spoonful of soup to cool it off. His eyes focused in on the ripples that formed. He could ignore Washington, just like he ignored the rest of his problems.

He focused on anything he could to keep from looking his boss in the eye. They hadn’t spoken since Washington had walked in on him and Thomas, but he’d rescheduled last Friday’s meeting for Monday so here they were. Staring at bowls of soup and literally talking about the weather.

Aaron heard a low muttering, unsure of where it came from and glanced behind him. The neighboring booth was empty, and the table beside them had a single young woman, picking at what looked like some sort of salad. He went to glance over at the booth behind Washington when he noticed it was his _boss_ talking to himself.

“...fuck it,” Washington muttered. Aaron just managed to catch the end of Washington’s sentence, and he looked up in surprise.

“Excuse me, sir?” Aaron asked. “Did you say something?” Washington glanced up from where he’d been looking down, his jaw set firmly.

“Nothing, Burr,” Washington said, gaze boring into Aaron. Aaron nodded and returned his gaze to his soup. Where the heck was Thomas? He should be back by now. Aaron would rather his nervous prattle than this awkward silence.

He reached for his water and drank the rest of it down, still doing his best the avoid Washington’s heavy stare. There wasn’t much left in the glass, and the awkward silence was cut by the sound of his slurping.

\--------------

“Aaron Burr!” Alexander exclaimed, standing from his seat. He shook Aaron’s hand before turning to the man beside him. “Jefferson,” he said, much less enthusiastically, pointedly not offering Thomas his hand.

Eliza, from where she still sat, cleared her throat. “Good to see you, Aaron,” she began, then turned to Thomas. “Eliza Hamilton, nice to meet you, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Thomas, please,” Thomas said, smiling at her warmly. Alexander’s eye twitched. Eliza giggled, and Alexander stepped forward in front of her.

“Right, well, we should be going now if we want to make it in time,” he said. “We all know how persnickety they can be about reservations if you’re late.” Alexander offered a hand to his wife, leading the group down the sidewalk to the subway station. Thomas glanced at Aaron.

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?” Thomas asked. Aaron hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“It’ll be a nice restaurant at any rate,” he said. “I’m sure Alexander wants to try and impress us.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, then grabbed Aaron’s hand. Aaron still flushed at the simple contact, even though the gesture has become common between them.

“Burr!” Alexander called from over his shoulder. “Do you remember that fellow, the one always managing to take the books I need from the library?”

“Monroe?” Aaron asked. Alexander nodded.

“He’s been _hoarding_ the new New York revised code and he won’t let anyone see them.”

Aaron fought the smile. _This_ is why he scheduled the double date. _James Monroe,_ Aaron filed the name away for research.

“Shouldn’t you have your own copy?” Thomas asked. Alexander frowned.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ not all of us -”

“I’m just saying -”

Eliza fixed Burr with an exasperated look as their respective dates snipped at each other. Burr offered a sympathetic smile and a slight shrug. At the very least, the night wouldn’t be boring.

\--------------

“The Lee murder is past ‘out of left field.’ The Lee murder didn’t _come_ from any field. It’s completely unprecedented!” Thomas said. “I thought the Eaker murder was unusual but Lee was a complete and utter devolution of Grin’s patterns and style in a single victim!”

“I’ll admit, it’s odd to see such a rapid change,” Washington said, absentmindedly spreading butter on a roll.

“I’ve been thinking about it for over a week now and it still doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas butted in, reaching for his own roll. “Nothing about it makes sense. And Lee! Of all people.”

“Lee was a good man,” Washington said. “Just not a very good lawyer.” Thomas opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a waiter in a shirt, vest, and tie.

“Good evening gentlemen, welcome to _Rosi_ , my name is Eric and I’ll be your server for this evening. Could I start you off with some wine?”

Before Aaron or Thomas could answer, Washington turned to the young man. “Yes, actually,” Washington said, looking over the wine menu. “We’ll have a bottle of the Chateau Nenin Bordeaux.”

Thomas choked on a bite of bread as the waiter leaned down to take the menu from Washington. “Excellent choice sirs, I’ll bring it right out,” he said. Washington thanked the waiter and turned to the food menu in front of him. Thomas nudged Aaron gently and leaned down.

“Holy shit,” Thomas breathed. Aaron glanced at him from his own menu. “That’s a serious bottle of wine.”

“So?” Aaron shrugged. Thomas looked at him, eyes wide.

“No, Aaron, that’s like, the type of wine you get when you’re trying to fuck someone.”

It was Aaron’s turn to choke, this time on air. His hands clenched around the edges of the menu as Thomas gently patted him on the back.

“Everything alright?” Washington asked, looking over the top of his menu. Aaron nodded quickly, shooting Thomas a glare.

“I’m fine,” Aaron said. “it’s fine.” Thomas snorted.

Each sip of the doubtlessly expensive wine burned down Aaron’s throat, but their entrees came and were taken away. No conclusion was reached on Lee, and the waiter returned, dessert menu in hand. “Might I interest you in one of our delicious desserts this evening?”

Aaron automatically shook his head, but Washington reached for the menu. He looked it over for a moment and said, “we’ll have the cinnamon espresso crème brulee.” Thomas choked on his sip of wine.

Thomas leaned down to whisper in Aaron’s ear: “one dessert, Aaron, what the _fuck_?”

“Thomas,” Aaron said, quiet warning in his voice as Washington spoke to their waiter.

“No, seriously,” Thomas said. “It’s like we’re on a date.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, even as he felt his face heat up. “It’s a _business_ dinner, Thomas.”

“Bet the waiter thinks Washington is like our sugar daddy or something.”

“Thomas!” Aaron whisper-yelled, but the waiter was moving away and Washington’s attention was back on them.

“Is everything alright, you two?” Washington asked, single brow quirked,

Aaron nodded hurriedly. “Everything’s fine.”

Washington turned to Thomas. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Thomas said, reaching for his wine again. “It’s great. Fantastic, even.”

“Wonderful, I’m happy to hear it,” Washington said, grinning over the table at them. Aaron’s heart beat quick in his chest. Now was not the time for this.  He reached under the table for Thomas’ hand and squeezed tight.

The crème brulee arrived, topped with a single strawberry cut into slices. Washington picked it up by the stem and offered it to Thomas and asked, “Do you like strawberries?”

Thomas nodded, and as if in a trance, leaned forward to take it into his mouth, eyes wide. Thomas sat back and said, “thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Washington said, smirking. He reached over for a spoon and broke the shell of melted sugar covering the custard, the faint, sharp sound ringing clear in Aaron’s ears. Washington lifted a spoonful of the desert into the air and held it out towards Aaron. “Would you like the first bite?”

\--------------

Lafayette threw open Aaron’s office door with a _bang,_ the sheer gusto of his entrance stopping Thomas in his pacing.

“I am _so_ glad you boys have finally come to your senses!” Lafayette said, the door swinging shut behind him. Thomas shot Aaron a look as Lafayette continued. “I was so sick and _tired_ of listening to ‘Thomas this’ and ‘Aaron that.’”

“Um…” Thomas started, eyebrows raising in confusion.

“Now, I mean, we shall have the ‘if you hurt him talk I’ll cut off your dicks’ talk later, but for now! Now!” Lafayette gestured wildly, grin splitting his face as he spoke. “Now is the time for celebration!”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas broke in before Lafayette could launch into another sentence. Lafayette’s smile grew wider.

“You two are dating George finally!”

Aaron looked at Thomas in confusion. “George…” he trailed. “George from accounting?”

Lafayette let out a noise of exasperation. “Look, I understand that HR might not be the happiest about this situation, but I’m sure we can keep it all under wraps, no? We are friends! Secret-keepers! As far as we are concerned George isn’t your boss when you three are outside of work!” Layette leaned in and said, voice lower, “unless you’re into that sort of thing.” He winked.

Aaron froze, Thomas’ mouth dropped open in shock. “What the everloving _hell_ are you talking about?!” Thomas exclaimed, checking to make sure the door was closed. “We’re not _dating_ Washington!”

Lafayette’s eyes went wide and he leaned back in shock, hand going to his chest. “What do you mean you’re not dating? You just went on a date! Like, two days ago! I had to listen to George go on and on about it for _hours_!”

“We had our weekly dinner,” Aaron said. “It wasn’t a date.”

Lafayette nodded, slowly. “Yes, it was.”

Thomas shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“He said you got wine! He fed you dessert! _You were on a date!_ ” Lafayette insisted. Thomas shot Aaron a look.

“I _told_ you it was fuck wine!”

“Thomas!” Aaron hissed, then turned to Lafayette. “It wasn’t a date. It was a business dinner.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Lafayette said, expression finally falling serious. “He said he was…” A look of realization flashed across his face. “George, you buffoon!” he exclaimed. He looked at Thomas and Aaron, jaw set. “Listen, forget everything I just said. Ignore the entire conversation. It never happened.”

With that, Lafayette spun on his heel and marched out of Aaron’s office. In the wake of Lafayette’s departure, Aaron and Thomas shared a bewildered look.

“Okay, seriously,” Thomas said. “What the hell is going on?”


	9. James Monroe

The moment Aaron walked into _Granite,_ he realized that this restaurant was so far beyond the usual business dinner pay grade that there wasn’t even a comparison. _Rosi’s_ had been nice, respectable, a little upscale but alright for a work function.

_Granite,_ though. _Granite_ was lit-by-candlelight, live-string-quartet, satin-chairs-and-hand-carved-silverware exquisite. Aaron squeezed Thomas’ arm, looking around the dimly lit dining room in silent awe.

“Thomas,” he said, and his boyfriend nodded.

“Fuck wine,” Thomas muttered back, sliding his arm out of Aaron’s hold so he could intertwine their hands instead.

The table they were lead to was tucked away into the corner, hidden away from view. Aaron swallowed when he caught sight of Washington - the low light playing off his features in a way that made Aaron all too aware of just how attractive his boss was. This wasn’t a date, he reminded himself.

Thomas squeezed his hand, and Aaron noticed the glasses of wine already poured and waiting for them. This was totally a date. Aaron glanced up at Thomas, saw the strange, pained smile that was stretched across his face.

“I took the liberty of ordering drinks,” Washington said, voice low in the heavy atmosphere.

“Wonderful! Thank you!” Thomas all but chirped. The hand gripping Aaron’s turned almost painfully tight. If Washington noticed Thomas’ odd, strained energy, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he simply motioned to the empty seats around him. The table was built into the corner, and Washington had managed to tuck himself all the way in, leaving empty space on either side of him, just large enough for one person each.

“Have a seat,” Washington said. Aaron nodded, gently working his hand out of Thomas’, even as Thomas grabbed for it back. Aaron shot him a look, only to see the slight nervous panic in Thomas’ eyes.

_No, come back,_ Thomas seemed to be pleading, _make him move over._ But Aaron simply looked away, unable to trust his own voice for the moment. He took the spot to Washington’s left, and Thomas soon slid into his own spot across the table from him.

Washington smiled at both of them and said, “it was nice for you two to join me.”

Thomas coughed. Aaron shot him a look and then turned to Washington and said, “of course. Is there anything particular about the case that has come up on your end?” It was a professional dinner, and despite the romantic atmosphere, Aaron wasn’t going to let Washington forget that.

“The governor is asking why we haven’t made an arrest yet, but he’s been asking that from the start,” Washington said, picking up his wine glass and swishing it gently with one hand. “Have you two found any leads?”

Aaron shook his head and said, “No, there haven’t been any new murders this week, and deciphering anything is like throwing our heads against the wall.”

Washington hummed and took a long sip of his drink. Thomas shot a glance over at Aaron, fingers working into the table cloth. “So, uh, not much on the work front I guess,” Thomas said, trying to sound casual and light but the tension in his voice betrayed him. “Shame that we don’t really have anything to report. Dinner’s kind of a bust, huh? This place is kinda expensive to just… not have a reason to be here so maybe we should…” Thomas motioned in the direction of the front door as he started to scoot himself out of the booth.

Washington frowned, put his glass back down on the table and looked over at Thomas. “Reservations here are very hard to get, Thomas,” Washington said. Thomas’ forced smile fell for a heartbeat before he managed to reaffix it in place.

“It’s fine,” Aaron said, sticking his foot out to catch Thomas by the leg. Thomas looked over at him, gaze flicking between Aaron and Washington quickly.

“I mean, if you two _want_ to stay, I won’t pass it up,” Thomas said quickly. “I’ve heard they’ve got… really good -” Thomas glanced down at the menu - “Uh… sauces…” Washington’s eyebrow crept up his face as Thomas turned the other way in a wince.

“I suppose,” Washington said, voice like a deep rumble. Thomas, eyes screwed shut, nodded. Aaron had to stop himself from banging his head against the table.

Aaron was saved from actually doing so by the shadow of a waiter coming over the table. The man cleared his throat and said, “I see that you’ve already started on the wine, gentleman.” The waiter gestured toward their menus. “Will you be ordering a starter this evening?”

Washington nodded and looked over his menu. “We will have the bruschetta,” he said. “The traditional and a plate of the special.”

“Of course, sirs.” The waiter nodded and continued, “that’ll be right out, sirs.”

“Thank you,” Washington said, setting the menu down. By the time the waiter left the table, Thomas was settled back into his seat with his face buried in the leather-bound menu. His free hand groped blindly under the table until he managed to find one of Aaron’s and grab on. He squeezed twice, and Aaron looked up.

Thomas, menu held up so Washington couldn’t see his face, silently mouthed _Fuck Wine_ over the table at Aaron. Aaron sighed, rolled his eyes and squeezed Thomas’ hand back. Thomas shot him a hard look, but then Washington was clearing his throat.

“That’s a very nice tie, Aaron,” Washington said. “It really brings out your eyes.” And with that, Washington picked up his own menu and turned his entire attention to it and only it. Aaron froze, wine glass halfway to his lips. Thomas hand practically spasmed from how quickly he squeezed Aaron’s hand in rapid pulses.

Aaron didn’t look up, he didn’t need another reminder of the ‘frick wine,’ as Thomas so loved to call it.

The waiter returned, appetizers in hand. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he noticed the tension thick in the air between the three of them. The waiter left, and none of them looked away from their menus to pick at the no-doubt delicious food in front of them.

Thomas sighed and set his menu flat on the table, tapping his manicured nails on the table in quick succession. “So,” he started. “Can you believe that Lafayette thought the three of us were dating? Crazy, right?”

Aaron swore that his foot kicking out at Thomas was reflex more than anything else. There was an ugly choking sound, Washington dropping his menu on the table with a quiet _thud_. Aaron set his own menu down and reached for his wine, draining his glass and avoiding looking anywhere close to Washington.

Thomas shrunk down into his seat, staring emptily at the table like he was reconsidering each and every life decision that had brought him to this point. Washington cleared his throat again, his eyes flicking back and forth between Thomas and Aaron.

“Did Lafayette say something to that… effect?” Washington asked, voice hard. Thomas looked up at Aaron, panic in his eyes. Aaron swallowed, the last of his wine bubbling down his throat.

“Something like that,” Aaron responded. “He seemed to be under the impression that our last dinner together…” he trailed, unsure of how to phrase it. He could feel Washington's gaze on him, pinning him in place. “Was…”

“He called it a date!” Thomas burst, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer. “He called it a date,” he repeated, quieter this time. A silence settled on all three of them, neither Aaron nor Thomas having the guts to either break it or even look up at their boss.

Washington’s foot tapped underneath the table, the almost rapid-fire sound grating on Aaron’s already frayed nerves. Thomas re-erected his menu wall to glare at Aaron.

“Aaron,” Thomas hissed, as low as possible. “Aaron I fucked up.”

Aaron glared back, a silent _what the actual heck, Thomas_ , while digging his foot into Thomas’ shin where he had kicked it earlier. Thomas jerked his leg away with a wince.

“Stop kicking me!” Thomas whisper-yelled across the table. Aaron’s eyes widened and he tried to discretely point at Washington to remind Thomas that he’s _still right there_. Thomas just clenched his jaw. “Aaron, fix this. Say something, _anything_.”

Aaron sighed and looked at Washington, who was tracing his fingers over the rim of his now empty wine glass. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “Thomas can be a bit impulsive at times.”

Washington nodded once, a look Aaron had never seen before in his eyes, and said, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Thomas coughed, and Aaron ignored him. “So, sir, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“Call me George.” Washington shook his head. “And no, I do not.”

“A free weekend is always nice, just take some time to relax,” Aaron said.

Washington nodded, and Thomas remained silent against his wall of a menu. Aaron sighed. This wouldn’t do. At the very least, they were meant to be co-workers. This tension, this obvious discomfort, was far from conducive toward a positive working relationship.

But as Aaron turned to apologize, to try and diffuse the odd tension at the table, he was once again struck by just how handsome Washington looked in the low light, the flickering candles on the table giving him a regal elegance. All thoughts of backing out, of restoring the status quo flew out of Aaron’s head the moment he made eye contact with the other man.

Acting on the same unusual impulse that had driven him to Thomas those weeks ago in the office, Aaron leaned over, put one hand on Washington’s arm, and kissed him on the cheek.

Thomas flailed, sending his menu wall toppling to the table. The corner of the menu caught the edge of the bruschetta and made the plates overturn, sending tomato bits and bread slices flying across the table. A wine glass fell over and onto the floor with a shattering sound as Aaron pulled back.

He picked up his menu again and let his eyes scan over the words he had memorized shortly after sitting down.

“Aaron,” Thomas said. “What just happened?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He had kissed Washington - his boss. It was on the cheek. It was casual, something that employees did all the time, right? There was a familiar tension building in his gut, the kind that was starting to already flow through him and make him restless, his leg bouncing in place. He swallowed. It was fine. It was going to be fine.

Thomas glared at him, but said nothing, communicating all the disbelief and outrage silently.

“Aaron,” Washington began, and Aaron turned to him with an innocent smile. “I believe I’m repeating Thomas’ question, but; What just happened?”

“You tell me sir, you both seem to have some idea that I just did something.” Aaron looked back down at his menu, knuckles white around the edges where he held it firmly in place. Washington and Thomas shared a look. “Someone ought to clean up all the spilled food,” Aaron commented.

“You just kissed our boss,” Thomas said, slowly. Aaron looked up from his menu and shrugged.

“I don’t recall,” Aaron responded, having to force the smile on his face to stay in place. Washington shakily reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, typing rapidly as Thomas stared, wide-eyed at Aaron.

“It - you literally - I - it just happened! What do you mean ‘I don’t recall?!’” Thomas said, leaning over the table. Aaron opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Washington’s phone, ringing loudly in his hand.

Both Aaron and Thomas looked over. Washington looked flustered, an expression Aaron had never seen on his face before, and he glanced between his phone and the two of them. “...I… Lafayette is calling me. I… did not expect him to call.”

Aaron offered Washington a smile, the older man looking down at him in frozen disbelief, then turned and pushed himself out of the booth. He had planned on spending the rest of the evening with Thomas, maybe watch a movie. But now? Now he had to see what Monroe was up to.

“Have a nice night,” Aaron said, not turning around to look at Washington or Thomas.

He could feel the eyes on him as he walked through the restaurant, but he paid them no mind. If worst came to worst, Aaron had no problem claiming it was the wine that had gotten to him. He took in a deep breath, feeling it expand his chest. That was a feeling he could focus on - something physical, tangible, making so much more sense than the confusion filling his mind.

Monroe. He needed to see if Monroe was home.

Aaron walked through the doors, the night air cool against his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides. He needed to go now.

A familiar hand closed around his wrist, and Aaron jolted, looking up to find Thomas staring down at him, confusion and concern both shining brightly on his face. “Is everything okay,” Thomas asked.

Aaron nodded and pulled his hand away. “Yes,” he said. “I’m fine. It'll be fine.” He went up on his toes to press a kiss to Thomas’ lips. “I’ll see you later, okay? I have to take care of something.”

“What?” Thomas asked, but Aaron was already pulling away, pulling his arm out of Thomas’ grasp. Aaron took off down the sidewalk, some part of his brain mapping out a route to the nearest subway station. “Wait, Aaron! You can’t - we need to talk!”

But Aaron didn’t respond. The swirling, all-consuming anxiety wiring his mouth shut and his ability to speak non-existent. This time, Thomas didn’t follow, and Aaron managed to disappear into the evening crowd.

He didn’t have his knife kit. Monroe should theoretically have knives somewhere in his home.

Aaron wove his way through the crowd, mechanically getting onto the subway and getting off at the appropriate stop - the route long ago memorized. Monroe’s home was as unwelcoming and as unremarkable as the man inside, blending into its surroundings.

It was a routine and one that Aaron let himself relax into. He let himself in after spending a moment searching for the spare key, and wiped his shoes on the door mat. It wasn’t a very large space - few homes in New York were - and Aaron could hear the sounds of a television coming from a back room. He took a careful step forward, and when it didn’t creak, continued on.

He took a small detour into the kitchen, eyes darting around to make sure Monroe wasn’t there, and found the knife block by the stove. He picked a few up, testing out their balance before settling on a small, but still wickedly sharp knife. They’re all strong contenders, oddly all really well suited for meat carving. Monroe must prefer a carnivorous diet.

Aaron took his knife of choice and left the kitchen, following the sound of the television playing. Quietly, he tugged open each door he came across, finding nothing behind any of them. Aaron was careful to cover his hand with his sleeve so as not to leave fingerprints behind. It wasn’t until he found the last door, tucked into a corner, leading into a staircase downward that the tv sounds grew louder.

Carefully, Aaron picked his way down the staircase, not even flinching as someone on the tv screamed. The sound was incredibly loud, though Aaron didn’t mind. It was better for him, easier to stay undetected for longer.

It wasn’t until Aaron hit the bottom of the stairs and peeked out into the basement that he realized what was really going on.

Monroe - it had to be Monroe, Aaron recognized him from his Facebook photos - stood, back to Aaron, hovering over another man strapped to a chair. Aaron blinked in shock. That was unexpected. He thought to leave, to wait until Monroe’s… guest was gone, but he felt frozen as he watched Monroe trail one hand down the other man’s chest.

“Oh, come now,” Monroe was saying, “it’s alright, just a little longer now.” Aaron’s brow furrowed as Monroe moved around to the table behind the chair, revealing the knife stuck deep in the helpless man’s stomach.

Well, it wasn’t some sex thing.

Aaron stood there, suddenly unsure of himself. He’d walked in on victims entertaining friends before, but this… this was completely unexpected. The man in the chair cracked open his eyes, picking his head up. His gaze flitted on Aaron, eyes widening.

_Get help,_ the man mouthed as Monroe fiddled with something on the table. Aaron just stared back, taking in Monroe’s admittedly impressive set-up. Ropes, knives and other implements hung on noise-dampening walls, buckets and bottles of peroxide lining the floor.

The man in the chair looked at Aaron, fear mixing with hope in his eyes as blood spread across his stomach, staining his shirt. Before Aaron could decide just what to do in this newfound situation, Monroe turned back around, a knife in his hand.

The moment Aaron made eye contact with Monroe, the other man’s pleasant smile fell. “Oh. Hello there,” Monroe said, eyes narrowing. Aaron swallowed, and raised the hand holding the knife in a wave.

“Hello,” Aaron responded. Monroe’s gaze zeroed in on the blade in Aaron’s hand for a second, then looking back at Aaron’s face.

“...can I help you?” Monroe asked. Aaron frowned, lips pursed together.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” he said. “Tonight’s been… it’s been really stressful and weird and I’m not really sure what to do now?”

Monroe hummed, taking a slow step toward Aaron. “Stressful… huh?”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah, I… I kinda kissed my boss at dinner while my boyfriend was there.”

“Oh,” Monroe said, still taking slow steps across the basement. “I can see how that would be stressful.”

“And then I came here to kill you,” Aaron said, seeing the way Monroe’s eyes flashed at the admission, but he kept talking, “but here you are… killing someone else and I… you were supposed to be the quiet library guy and this was supposed to be my ‘me’ time, if you understand.”

Monroe nodded. Behind him, the man tied to the chair’s mouth dropped open, wide-eyes flicking back and forth between the two killers. “What the fuck?” The man muttered, voice weak.

“Yeah, I get it,” Monroe said. “Sorry about… This, I guess?” Monroe motioned to the basement as a whole. Aaron just nodded again.

“No, no, it’s alright. You didn’t know,” Aaron replied. Monroe just looked at Aaron, a good five or ten feet still separating them.

“So, uh,” Monroe started, “you have anyone else in mind since I’m kinda…”

Aaron shrugged. “I mean, I suppose? I could go pick someone else but it’ll bother me. Once I get stuck on someone it’s like, it _has_ to be them.”

“Makes sense, makes sense,” Monroe said, nodding. “Shame, I feel like we had a bonding thing going on here.”

“Yeah, sorry man,” Aaron said, offering a tight smile. They looked at eachother for a moment, one last beat of mutual understanding, and then Monroe launched himself across the remaining space, knife outstretched.

Aaron dodged to the side, dropping his own blade so he could better grab onto Monroe’s arm and pull him in for a stranglehold. Monroe gasped, squirmed and threw his elbow into Aaron’s stomach. He managed to dance away, putting almost the entire distance of the basement between them.

“Oh, so am I correct in thinking I have the pleasure of meeting the infamous Mr. Grin?” Monroe asked. Aaron let out an exasperated sigh.

“Look, I absolutely hate the name,” he said. “Please, don’t _ever_ call me that again.”

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” Monroe said. He lunged again, this time feinting to the right and almost catching Aaron in the side.

Aaron spun around, and managed to elbow Monroe in the back. “Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot. Lord knows I hear enough of it at work.”

Monroe dropped to his knees, knife falling from his hand. Aaron kicked it to his side and wrapped his arm around Monroe’s neck in that blessedly familiar grip. “You know,” he said. “I thought you’d put up more than a fight.”

“What can I say?” Monroe gasped out. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

“Why, thank you.” He put more pressure on Monroe’s neck, and Monroe’s hands came up to claw at his arm. “I appreciate it.”

Monroe clawed and struggled, losing his words as he fought for air. Aaron just held on as tight as he could, waiting for it to be over. Monroe’s victim, the poor guy, had passed out at some point, gushing blood from around the knife in his side.

Aaron almost felt bad about the whole thing, really. Maybe in a different light, if Aaron’s mind wasn’t the way it was and he could easily switch targets, he and Monroe could have been friends. Amicable co-workers at the least. Aaron wouldn’t have minded watching out for the guy at work.

But the strength was fading from Monroe’s body, and Aaron tried not to think about what could have been. Monroe sank against him, and Aaron felt calm. This was something he knew how to deal with. He lowered Monroe’s body onto the floor, and went to reach for the knife he had dropped in their previous skirmish.

He kneeled over Monroe and took a moment to admire the man’s handsome features. He deserved a nice cut - clean and smooth. A respectable send-off to a man of a similar mind.

The knife cut through the flesh of Monroe’s cheeks like butter - sharp, well-taken care of. It was bittersweet almost, what-ifs and what-might-have-beens not quite fading from his mind along with the rest of the tension from his chest. Aaron stood up and stretched his arms above his head, fingers brushing against the ceiling. He felt much better now.

Part of him wondered what the police will think when someone eventually stumbled on the bloody mess that was Monroe’s basement, but mostly Aaron just let himself ride the calm high. He picked up the knife - he didn’t have gloves tonight so he’d just have to take it with him - and trotted back up the steps.

When he hit the upper landing, Aaron’s blissful reverie was broken by the sound of his own stomach grumbling. It was only then he remembered that he hadn’t eaten dinner - too occupied with the disaster of everything that had happened.

He trekked the path he had taken through Monroe’s home and ended up in the kitchen. Aaron supposed it made sense why all of Monroe’s kitchen knives would be of such high quality. Making sure his hand was covered by his sleeve, Aaron tugged open Monroe’s fridge.

And immediately shut it again when he saw the shelf of human hands. So, Monroe had been the cannibalistic type then.

His choice of kitchen knives made perfect sense now.


	10. Tench Tilghman

Aaron didn’t realize his mistake until he was already shutting the apartment door behind him. In his post-murder joy, he’d made the journey home on routine, and so had not gone to the Hamilton’s apartment, and instead found himself standing in his own apartment sometime just after midnight.

It wasn’t until he was staring at his own kitchen counter, considering what he wanted to eat that Aaron realized what he’d done. He gasped, kicking himself mentally as he turned for the front door -

“Aaron?”

Well then. Aaron sighed and turned to face Bells, his hand still settled on the doorknob behind his back. “Hello,” he said.

Bells smiled wide. “Aaron!” he said, arms outstretched as if for a hug. “I’ve been so worried! Are you okay? Have you been eating?” Bells walked closer. “Have you been sleeping okay? Where did you go? Please tell me you didn’t go to Thomas.” Ah, yes, Bells’ familiar scolding tone.

Aaron shook his head. “No, I did not go to Thomas’.” He might have, had he not needed the names from Alexander. “I went to the Hamiltons’.” He looked down at his shirt. Right. Monroe. Bells’ had seen him covered in blood before. Maybe, just maybe, this would go over as well as it had in past circumstances. He didn’t have time to deal with Bells’ reaction. 

“Alright,” Bells said, nodding to himself. “Did you eat dinner? I have some leftovers I can heat up if you’d like.”

“No, I had dinner with George and Thomas.” And then he murdered James Monroe, but that was neither here nor there. He had dinner with _George_ _and Thomas_. Aaron smiled to himself. George and Thomas. His boyfriends.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Bells prodded.

Aaron let go of the doorknob and stepped forward. “Yes,” he replied. “I’m sure.” He reached a hand up to scratch at his head. “I think I’m going to go take a shower.”

“I don’t believe you.” Bells said, stepping forward to place his hands on Aaron’s chest, stopping him from moving further into the apartment. His hands rested worryingly close to a blood splatter, but Aaron forced himself not to look in case Bells noticed. “I’m not letting you leave until I see you eat. It’s been days!”

Bells’ mother-hen instincts always seemed to come out at the worst times. Aaron lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender and said, “Fine! Something quick though, and light.” The human remains in Monroe’s fridge hadn’t exactly left him with an appetite.

Bells grinned, scurrying over to the fridge and throwing open the doors. “So, I’ve got pad thai, shepherd's pie, chicken noodle soup… here come look!”

Aaron walked over and peered inside the fridge. It was practically filled with stacks of tupperware containers and wrapped up plates of food. Bells prattled on about all of Aaron’s choices while Aaron tried to count how many separate plates of pad thai there were.

“And this is all your leftovers?” He asked. Bells nodded.

“You know me, I can never get portion sizes right,” Bells replied, laughter in his voice. Aaron glanced down at him. Bells looked so proud of himself. “So, what do you want? I’ll heat it up for you.”

“Um,” Aaron scanned the collection of food. “Soup is probably the best? Something thin -”

But Bells was already grabbing for a tupperware container, and Aaron could tell simply by the way it sloshed about that Bells had grabbed some thick, heavy broth. He sat down on the stool by the counter with a huff. Bells was already pulling out a pot - he always thought heating things up on the stove was better than the microwave - and Aaron knew better than to try to protest.

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest in a shallow attempt at hiding the blood stains. “So,” he started. “How have you been?” 

Bells froze, hand outstretched toward the drawer holding the cooking utensils. “Well,” Bells said, voice with an odd tinge. “I’ve been well. It’s been a bit quiet, I suppose.” Bells’ shoulders were still stiff. 

“Well, quiet isn’t a bad thing.” Aaron hunched his shoulders forward, eyes focusing in on the soup Bells was pouring into the pot. The quicker that was heated the quicker he could eat it and the quicker he could leave. 

The now half-empty container of soup was put back into the fridge, and Bells began to stir the liquid in the pot as it heated up. “You mentioned a George earlier?” Bells asked.

Aaron nodded and said, “yeah, my boyfriend.”

Bells jolted, looking over his shoulder at Aaron. “Did something happen with Thomas?” He asked. Aaron shook his head.

“Nope, we’re still dating,” Aaron said. A look of confusion spread across Bells’ face, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You’re not cheating are you?” Bells asked. 

Aaron coughed, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “No!” he said, voice much too loud for the small kitchen. “How could you think that?!” 

Wide eyes stared back at him, Bells’ obviously shocked at his reaction. It wasn’t often he put so much energy into something. “No,” Bells said, voice small. “But, how are you dating two people?” Bells turned back to the stove. “It just seems, strange, I guess.” Bells cleared his throat. “Not like something you’d do.”

“And why not?” Aaron asked, brow raised even though Bells couldn’t see. “What’s wrong with dating more than one person?” 

Bells shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, it’s just, odd? Strange? How do you just choose new people to date?”

Aaron paused. “I guess… I guess I like them and then somehow we kiss and then we’re dating.” Said out loud, it sounded the tiniest bit like a child’s description of relationships. It sounde like how every forced romance in movies happens. ‘Somehow we kiss and then we’re dating.’

If that was the case, Aaron was living the weirdest romantic movie ever, considering what he did in his spare time.

Bells took a deep breath, and Aaron braced himself for another outburst. “So, how did you meet George?” Bells asked. Aaron blinked, caught off guard.

“He’s kind of my boss,” Aaron said, wincing. Bells just hummed, tapping the spoon on the edge of the pot.

“George Washington, then,” Bells said.

“Yeah.”

Bells nodded to himself, reaching into the cabinet for a bowl and pouring the soup into it. He turned around and carefully placed it in front of Aaron. “You probably aren’t supposed to do that,” Bells said, leaning against the opposite side of the counter. “HR is probably having a field day with the whole dating your boss thing. You should maybe consider not doing that.”

Aaron shrugged. “Too late.” He could have sworn he saw Bells’ eyes focus in on a particularly dark stain on his shirt, but he pushed the thought away when Bells didn’t say anything. 

“You could still end it,” Bells said. Aaron looked up from his soup.

“Bells, drop it,” Aaron said, surprising even himself with how harsh he sounded. A flash of hurt crossed Bells’ face, followed by an expression Aaron couldn’t quite recognize, then all emotion drained away.

“Right,” Bells said, stepping away from the counter with an oddly blank expression on his face. “That was rude of me.” Bells turned around and walked toward the sink and started to scrub at the pot. “So, how’s the soup?” Bells asked in a forced casual tone.

Aaron looked down at the untouched contents of the bowl. “Great,” he said. “Thanks. I think I’m going to go take that shower now.”

“Of course.” Bells continued to scrub at the pot. “Just leave your bowl on the counter, I’ll take care of it.”

“Perfect.” Aaron stepped off the stool and tapped his hands on the counter, trying to think of something to cut through the tension. Bells wasn’t usually so awkward, but he supposed that this was a unique situation. It wasn’t often he stormed out the apartment for an extended period of time, and it was less often he admitted to dating his boss. He sighed and turned on his heel, finally relaxing when his bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

Aaron leaned against it and let out a breath. There was something freeing about being home. Here, he had his own bed, his own shower, own clothing - wouldn’t have to switch between sets of Alexander’s. Speaking of, he looked down at the stained shirt stretched across his chest - he’d need to take care of that. 

The jacket was shoved off his shoulders and placed on the bed, and the belt and pants soon followed. Aaron toed off his shoes, and threw the socks into the empty hamper. He was just going to peel off his undershirt - also stained - when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he called out.

Bells’ voice was muffled by the door, “I’m heading out for a bit. Need anything?”

“No,” Aaron replied. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Not long passed before Aaron heard the click of shoes on the wooden floors and the front door slam shut. Bells was gone. Bells usually wasn’t the type to go out at night, but Aaron wasn’t going to complain. He dropped his stained clothes on the floor - the blood was already dry and set, waiting until after the shower wouldn’t cause anymore damage - and headed to the bathroom.

When Aaron got out of the shower, Bells still wasn’t home. Aaron treated his clothes, dropped them in his hamper and crawled into bed. He was out the moment he shut his eyes.

His alarm woke him the next morning, and Aaron went about his normal morning routine - his skin practically singing when he rubbed the facial oil in. He had missed that. He checked his reflection in the mirror, and smiled when he noticed the glow to his skin that he’d been missing. He was going to see George and Thomas today, would get to spend time with them. It would be a great day. 

Bells was already in the kitchen, humming a tune as he cracked eggs into a pan, when Aaron walked out. Bells turned to look at him and said, “your coffee is on the counter, I’m making you breakfast right now.”

Aaron took a sip of the coffee - perfect, his favorite roast - and leaned against the counter and said, “smells great.” He might have thrown a compliment in there - maybe saying he preferred Bells’ cooking over Eliza’s (and he did) - but Aaron said nothing. 

He ate his eggs in silence accepted for a whispered thanks, and accepted the to-go cup Bells handed to him with a smile, and then he was on his way. 

The walk was familiar and passed quickly. He turned into the building and stopped in the middle of the hallway when he saw the door to his office wide open. 

Thomas was already there - as were George, Madison, Alexander, and Lafayette, the last three men huddled in the corner as if they couldn’t be seen.

George and Thomas stepped away from each other when Aaron walked in, but the other three just huddled closer together. Aaron shifted his bag higher onto his shoulder and said, “hello.” He was looking at his boyfriends, but it was Alexander who answered.

“Nice of you to make it.”

Aaron pulled out his phone to check the time. He was fifteen minutes early - the same time he walked in every day. “Am I late?”

“Well,” Alexander said. “No, but you’re here after the news, so yes, you kind of are.”

Aaron nodded slowly. “What news?” he asked.

Thomas stepped forward and shoved a newspaper in his face. “This news - double murder!” Alexander scoffed in the corner, but Aaron just took the paper. There was Monroe’s photo, looking out from the paper, and for a moment Aaron thought the ‘double’ murder was going to come from Monroe’s victim, but the other picture in the paper was familiar in an unexpected way.

Tench Tilghman, Washington’s assistant, smiled from his place next to Monroe. Aaron blinked, clutching the paper closer. “Tench?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “Mr. Grin was busy last night.”

“They were both Grin victims?” Aaron asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Thomas and George both nodded. Aaron buried his face in the newspaper, trying to look like he was just absorbed in the story. But none of the words on the page were processing, Aaron too lost in his own head to actually read.

Aaron hadn’t killed Tench last night. Of that he was completely positive. He simply hadn’t, there was no way around it.

“...Monroe leads credence to the vigilante theory, actually,” Thomas rambled, his words only barely registering. “Turns out the guy also murdered people? But Tench…” Thomas looked over at George.

“Tench was a good man,” was all George said. Aaron risked a glance up. George’s eyes were fixed on some far-off point, but George shook his head and started to pace the room, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Tench Tilghman was a good man, and one that only adds to the confusion surrounding the Mr. Grin case. Monroe could be seen as following the vigilante pattern, but even if we dug deep into Tilghman’s past and internet history, I feel confident in saying nothing will come up.” George nodded to himself and continued, “if it didn’t make sense before, I don’t know what to say about it now.”

Alexander stepped forward and said, “we know that Mr. Grin doesn’t work in a set pattern, why would this be any different?”

“Hamilton,” Thomas said, sneering. “What are you even doing here?”

Alexander opened his mouth to say something, but George waved him off. “He’s here because I said he can be.” 

Thomas stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Lafayette said, a twinkle in his eyes. “But you three have something to talk about, no?”

“Perhaps,” George said, turning to level him - and Alexander and Madison - with a look. “Would you three like to leave?”

All three of the men in the corner froze, Lafayette and Alexander sharing a glance. “Not particularly,” Alexander said. George’s gaze hardened, and Madison was the first to nod.

“Of course sir,” he said.

The three slowly filed out. Madison was the first out the door, Alexander and Lafayette trailing behind. George walked toward them and said, “out.”

“Right away sir,” Lafayette said, and George stepped forward to closet the door behind them.

He turned back around to face Aaron and Thomas. “So,” he started. “I believe we should have a discussion about last night’s dinner.”

“What about it?” Aaron asked.

Thomas shot Aaron a look and muttered, “what do you mean what about it? Did you not go to the same dinner? Or are you still on this ‘it didn’t happen’ thing?”

Aaron shrugged and said, “I just don’t really know what there is to talk about?”

“What do you mean you don’t know what there is to talk about?” Thomas asked, eyes wide. “You’re what we need to talk about!”

Aaron walked over and sat on his desk. “Then talk,” he said. 

“Aaron,” George said, taking a careful step forward. “There are many reasons why we’re at this tense phase right now, and it needs to be cleared up. We’re all adults that know how to communicate, and there are of course professional elements that must be taken into consideration. We work together, and we work closely together.”

“Yep,” Aaron said, nodding. “We do work together.”

Thomas raised a hand to his face and took in a deep breath and said, “Aaron, you and I are dating.”

Aaron reached forward for Thomas’ hand and squeezed it. “Yes,” he agreed. “We are. It’s pretty great.”

“We need to figure out where George fits in,” Thomas said, smiling softly. “And that’s up to you.”

Aaron hopped off the desk, still holding Thomas’ hand, and took a step toward George. “What’s so confusing about where George fits in?” he asked. He grabbed for George’s hand and looked between the two. “We - the three of us - fit together.”

George shook his head and said, “yes, sure, but we need to know exactly how. Are you and Thomas going to keep dating? Are we going to pretend none of this ever happened? Are you going to let me try to date you? Both of you?”

“No, of course not,” Aaron said. He went up on his toes. “You already are,” he said, right before he closed the remaining distance between him and George and pressed their lips together.

He pulled away smiling, and George blinked down at him. “What?” George asked. “What do you mean we’re already dating?”

“Unless you have any oppositions?” He looked toward Thomas in question.

Thomas shook his head and said, “nope, no oppositions here.” Thomas looked over at George. “May I?” he asked.

George smiled, and pressed a kiss the corner of Thomas’ mouth. “Of course.”

Aaron’s smiled widened, and he looked between Thomas and George and said, “see, we fit.”

“That we do,” George said, reaching for Thomas’ hand. It was cheesy, but there they were, standing in a circle holding hands surrounded by pictures of mutilated bodies. Aaron couldn’t think of a time he had ever been happier.

“We’re definitely not telling HR about this,” Thomas said, and George burst out into laughter. Aaron blinked, he’d never heard George laugh like this before, musical little peals that warmed the air with their sound.

“No, I don’t think we are,” George replied. Aaron smiled, looking between both of his boyfriends. The contented silence was broken by the chirping of George’s phone. Reluctantly, George dropped Thomas’ hand to reach into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, looked at the screen, and sighed.

“Of course,” George muttered. “Of course you do this  _ right now _ .”

Thomas leaned over to look at George’s phone. “What is it?”

“King.” George sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I hate to cut this short, but I have to go deal with this.” He pressed a kiss to both Thomas’ and Aaron’s cheeks and turned to the door. 

George turned the knob and pulled the door open, and Alexander fell onto the floor with a grunt. 

“I’d ask for an explanation,” George said. “But I’m not even surprised.”

Alexander didn’t move but looked up at George and asked, “really? Not even a little?”

“I practically raised you.”

“Fine.” Alexander pushed himself up off the floor. “Good luck with King.”

George stepped into the hallway, not gracing Alexander with a response, and continued on his way.

Before Alexander could think to turn his attention on them, Aaron stepped forward and forced him out, but not before Alexander managed to get out a, “I can’t believe you’re basically dating my dad. What kind of ex-roommate betrayal is this?”

He sighed, and turned back to Thomas and said, “well then, back to Mr. Grin.”

“Of course.” Thomas said, and started to examine the new additions to their collage.

Aaron pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot off a quick text.

**_To: Johnathan Bellamy_ **

**_Hey, might be late - something with King came up, and that usually means we end up busier than usual_ **

He put his phone face down on the desk and stepped to Thomas’ side. “So,” he said. “Is there anything out of the ordinary with the style of the murders?”

The cuts on Tilghman’s cheeks were rough, amateurish, and Aaron had to fight down the sneer. He never would have treated a man like Tench with such a lack of respect. If, for whatever reason Tench had found himself on the end of Aaron’s knife, he would have been given clean, beautiful cuts. Not the jagged, slightly hesitant wounds he bore now.

But Aaron could only shrug. He was going to have to be careful now. There was a part of him was flattered - only the best serial killers had copycats. Aaron only wondered if this was a one-time copy done to cover up the real killer’s intentions and identity, or if he had more of a ‘fan.’

Thomas looked over at Aaron where he peered at Tench’s post-’’’grin’’’ photo. “Something strike you?”

Aaron shook his head. “No, just… thinking.” Thomas gently wove their fingers together.

“We’ll get it,” Thomas said. “We’ll find this bastard.”

Aaron stifled the sigh, choosing instead to lean into Thomas’ shoulder. “Sure.”


	11. Friedrich Von Steuben

Over the next two weeks, more ‘Mr. Grin’ victims started to emerge. The problem was that Aaron didn’t kill them. Aaron didn’t kill Benjamin Walker or John Marshall or Pierre Etienne Du Ponceau.

“What kind of name is that?” Thomas asked in a low mutter, staring at the sheet of information below Du Ponceau’s name.

“We know a Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette,” Aaron replied. Thomas frowned.

“Fair enough,” he said. Aaron carefully tacked the highlights from Du Ponceau’s autopsy report under his photographs. Whoever it was out there, they were getting better. Less hesitation, cleaner cuts. Marshall had some unfortunate bruising on the neck but that had gone away with Du Ponceau.

Aaron’s copycat was learning. And fast.

Aaron made sure to keep all the Copycat Murders separate from everything else, quarantined to their own whiteboard in the name of ‘space,’ as he told Thomas. While Thomas desperately tracked down a tenuous connection between Marshall and Monroe, Aaron focused on the four men he _didn’t_ actually murder.

More specifically, over the fact that apparently Walker and Du Ponceau were dating the same man. Even more specifically, the man currently sitting in their office sobbing.

“Mr. Von Steuben,” Aaron started.

“-Baron,” Von Steuben interrupted. Thomas shot Aaron a confused look from behind Steuben, but Aaron decided just to go with it.

“Baron, then,” he said. “You’re sure no one would have wanted to hurt your boyfriends.”

“Pierre and Ben were good souls,” Von Steuben said through his tears. A heavy German accent was only exasperated by his grief.

Thomas grimaced and after a moment of hesitation awkwardly patted Von Steuben on the shoulder. “I’m sure they were,” he said. “But, we really need to know. Any ex-boyfriends, per chance?”

“Have you gone to the police?” Aaron asked. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to George.

**_To: George Washington_ **

**_We have a baron crying in our office please fix this_ **

A second later Von Steuben was still crying into his own arms and Aaron’s phone lit up with a new message:

**_From: George Washington_ **

**_Friedrich? I’ll be right there_ **

Aaron blinked down at his phone before shoving it back into his pocket and walked over to Thomas’ side. He placed his hand on Von Steuben’s shoulder not occupied by Thomas’ hand and said, “Washington will be coming down soon, since this isn’t really our area of expertise.”

“You have the nerve,” Von Steuben said, looking up at Aaron, tears dripping down his wet face. “You have the _nerve_ to tell me this isn’t your area of expertise when there are photographs of the mutilated bodies of the loves of my life on your wall! You dare disgrace their memory! If this isn’t your area of expertise, what are you doing?! Where else am I supposed to go?” Von Steuben grabbed onto Aaron’s arm, squeezing so tightly it edged on painful. “I need answers, and you’re not giving them to me!”

“Technically, you’re supposed to be talking to police,” Thomas said. Von Steuben’s head snapped around to glare up at Thomas. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Friedrich,” George said, standing in the doorway. Von Steuben turned, and when he saw who was standing there, launched himself out of the chair and across the room. With little grace, Von Steuben threw his arms around George, buried his face into George’s shoulder, and broke out into muffled, ugly sobs.

George just sighed, patted Von Steuben on the back and said: ”Friedrich, I know you’re upset right now, I cannot imagine what you’re going through. However, with that being said, you need to get the hell out of my building.”

“They’re dead,” Von Steuben said. “First Ben, then Pierre, both of my boys. Slaughtered!”

“I know, I know,” George said, shooting Thomas and Aaron a look over Von Steuben’s shoulder. “But this isn’t the place for you to be right now. You need to be talking to the police.”

“The last time I went to the police to talk about Ben I came home to find Pierre dead!” Von Steuben cries. “I can’t go there, George.”

George clasped Von Steuben on the shoulders and looked the man in the eye and asked, “Friedrich, when was the last time you slept?”

Aaron couldn’t hear what the baron said, but George nodded and said, “you’re going to go to my apartment, and you’re going to sleep. I don’t care what else you need to do, you can’t do any of it if you haven’t slept. It’s not a good idea to go back to your apartment.”

Von Steuben sobbed but nodded.

George looked at Von Steuben for a moment with concern, but fished a key out of his pocket and forced it into Von Steuben’s hand. “Call me when you get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Von Steuben agreed, tightening his hand around the key. “Thank you, George.”

“Of course,” George said. “Be safe, okay?”

Aaron watched as Von Steuben seemed to gather himself as he left them, shoulders straightening in an act - if nothing else.

“I cannot imagine what he’s going through right now,” Thomas said, breaking the silence.

George shook his head. “I know Friedrich,” he said. “What he’s showing is only a small peek.” George looked around the room, eyes hovering for a moment over the images of Benjamin and Pierre. “C’mon you two, let’s go upstairs, away from this.” George waved a hand toward the door. “You two could use a break.”

As soon as the elevator doors closed, George brought Aaron and Thomas in close, pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads, and said, “I cannot begin to imagine losing you two, and he’s known Pierre and Benjamin for years.”

Aaron pressed his cheek to George’s chest and wrapped an arm around George’s waist. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “It has to be.” He could only protect Thomas and George from himself. Whoever the Copycat was? That was another thing entirely.

The elevator dinged, and the three of them stepped apart, straightening their jackets in an attempt to appear professional.

Maria Reynolds - Tench’s replacement - stood to greet them with a small smile on her face, “Mr. Washington, Mr. Burr, Mr. Jefferson, is there anything you’ll be needing?”

George shook his head. “No, thank you Maria.”

“Of course, sir,” she said, sitting back down and returning to look at her computer screen. Aaron could hear her nails typing away when George shut his office door behind them.

George turned around to lean against his desk and said, “so, I know that this might sound odd, and feel free to shut me down. However,” he cleared his throat, “with everything that is going on right now I’d feel much more comfortable having you two close.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked. “We do work together, by most standards that’s too close.”

“Of course,” George said, shrugging his shoulders. “But, in most cases, there’s not a serial killer to take into consideration. Until this matter is settled, I know my worries would be soothed if you two perhaps came and lived with me.”

“George?” Aaron asked. George looked down, fiddling with the edge of his desk.

“After what happened to Friedrich, and I… I was speaking with Alexander the other day and he seemed to imply that Grin is… centered around us.”

“Us?” Thomas asked, eyes going wide. Aaron could see the gears turning in Thomas’ head and his heartbeat started to pick up.

“Us, him, the office,” George said. “It sounds far-fetched to me, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hamilton said something to me too,” Aaron interrupted. “It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no connection of any sort.”

“I know, but… call me paranoid, but the thought just won’t leave.” George looked up at the two of them. “And I know its fast, but I would really like it if you came to live with me.”

Thomas shot Aaron a look, but Aaron was lost in his own head. There was a part of him that thrilled at the idea about being around his boyfriends almost 24/7, but how would that work? He already had to dance around Bells to get in and out for his little escapades; getting around _two_ people would be infinitely more difficult. Would agreeing make it seem like Aaron gave credence to Alexander’s theory?

“Well,” Thomas said, looking at his feet. “My lease is ending soon.”

George’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s convenient.”

Thomas snorted. “That’s a word for it.” He turned to Aaron. “What about you? Do you think Bells would be alright with you moving out?”

Aaron blinked. _Bells_ , he hadn’t even thought about him. Bells would not take it well, to say the least. But in Aaron’s hesitation, Thomas began to pout, giving Aaron a pitiful look that just made his heart melt. He looked over at George, saw the suppressed worry in his eyes and sighed.

“I bet Bells won’t mind if I still pay rent until the lease is up,” he said. Thomas broke out into that blinding grin Aaron loved so much. That wasn’t true at all. If Bells had reacted poorly to the idea of him dating anyone seriously, there was going to be hell to pay for actually daring to move out.

George reached forward for his hand and raised it to press a kiss to the tips of his fingers, smiling at him. “Thank you,” George said, and Aaron felt his heart melt even further.

\--------------

When Aaron went home that day, it was with Thomas and George in tow. It turned out that Aaron lived farther away from George than Thomas did, and they decided it would be better to move Aaron first.

Aaron opened the door to the familiar scent of Bells’ cooking. “Hey!” Bells called. “In the kitchen!”

“Hey Bells,” Aaron called back, wincing. “I, uh…” he looked back at Thomas and George, and Thomas smiled reassuringly.

“Something up?” Bells asked, turning around to see Aaron, Thomas and George all gathered in the entryway. “Oh. You brought guests,” he said, voice suddenly tight.

“Hey Bellamy,” Thomas said with a wave.

“Hello Thomas, hello George,” Bells responded, a smile stretched almost painfully across the face. “Aaron didn’t say you were coming for dinner.”

George nodded and stepped closer to Aaron’s side. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “And sorry about that, it wasn’t planned.”

“I see.” Bells’ voice was cold, and Aaron held back a wince. Bells turned back to the stove and said, “I guess I’ll make some more.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Thomas said. “We can always order something. We don’t want to get in your way while pack-.” Aaron’s hand shot forward to squeeze Thomas’ arm, tight enough to cut off circulation.

“We just don’t want to get in your way, is all,” Aaron said, smiling at Bells. “We’ll be in and out for a bit.”

Aaron waited, frozen in place, for Bells to nod. “I’ll save you leftovers, then,” Bells said.

“That sounds great!” Aaron started to push Thomas and George in the direction of his room. “You’re the best, Bells!”

It was a short walk, and as soon as the three of them crossed the threshold to get into his room, Aaron shut the door behind them. George shot him a concerned look and asked, “is everything okay with you and your roommate?”

Aaron nodded. “Everything’s great!”

“Are you sure?”

A plate shattered.

Aaron winced. “I should probably go talk to him, I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want us to start packing up?” Thomas asked. “We can start on your clothing, at least.”

“You don’t have to.”

George shook his head and said, “we might as well.” Another plate shattered, and Aaron winced again.

He sighed and said, “alright, but don’t stress about it.” He stepped away from the door and opened it. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

Bell’s shoulders were tense, and Aaron noticed the remains of ceramic on the kitchen floor when he took his usual seat at the breakfast bar. “So,” he started. “George, Thomas, and I are-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bells bit out.

“Uhhh, what?” Aaron asked. Sure, it wasn’t going to be Bells’ favorite piece of news, but what man wouldn’t rejoice at having an apartment to himself for half a year.

Bells stirred the pot angrily. “You couldn’t have waited until I was finished with dinner, you couldn’t have thought to give me a heads up-”

“It was a spur of the moment decision, Bells,” Aaron interjected. “Things came up at work, and this is how we’re dealing with them.”

“I said I don’t want to hear it!” Bells snapped. “Just… you couldn’t have even gone to one of their apartments?”

“That’s the eventual plan, yes.”

“So you’re - nevermind! I don’t want to know!” Bells turned off the stove and reached for a bowl. “I’m going out later anyway so whatever. If you three can keep your hands off each other for three hours, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Aaron blinked. “What, what are you talking about?” he asked.

Bells turned to glare at him. “I don’t to hear you and your boyfriends having sex, okay!’

“We’re not -” Aaron said, tripping over his words. “We’re not having sex. You know me, Bells, that’s not really...my thing.”

“Then what are you doing?!” Bells’ near-shouted. “Why else would the three of you run off to your bedroom because of something that ‘came up’ at the office?!”

Aaron took in a deep breath and raised his hands to rub at his temples. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Bells couldn’t really be that dense, not for how long they had known each other. He exhaled and looked back up at Bells and said, “they’re helping me pack.”

“Where are you going?” Bells asked, bewildered.

“There were more kills, and George is getting worried.” Aaron looked down at the counter. “His friend lost his lovers, and George doesn’t want to lose Thomas and me. He wants us to move in with him, at least until all this Mr. Grin nonsense is swept under the rug.” He grimaced.

Bells was frozen, saying nothing, bowl still held tight in his hands. His face had blanched, realization playing deep in his eyes.

“Bells?”

“No,” Bells muttered, shaking his head. “You can’t, that’s not how that was supposed...” Bells’ eyes flickered over the room. Bells made a small sound of triumph and looked at Aaron again and said, “you can’t move out! The lease!”

“Don’t worry about the lease.” Aaron shook his head and stood up. “I’ll keep paying for rent, you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Bells’ eyes widened, he threw the bowl onto the counter and practically lunged across the island to grab a hold of Aaron’s wrist. “No! I don’t want the apartment to myself!”

“Find a roommate then,” Aaron said, trying to pull his arm from Bells’ grip. Bells shook his head.

“I - you can’t. You’re moving way too fast with those two and you can’t leave me alone and I won’t let you go!”

Aaron yanked his arm out of Bells’ hand roughly, backpedaling away from the island quickly. Bells was left, bent over the counter with his arms outstretched towards Aaron. “What’s gotten into you?!” Aaron said, rubbing his wrist with his other hand. He could feel that it was going to bruise. “First the outburst with Thomas, and then George, and now… you won’t _let_ me move out?”

Bells gasped, scrambled off the counter, rushing around the island towards Aaron. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I just panicked, you have to understand.” Aaron shirked away from him, even as Bells rushed to him. “I’m so sorry, I’m a shitty roommate, I know. But this is so quick! Please, just stick around for a few more days. I need some adjustment and planning time.”

Aaron hesitated, Bells reaching for him and placing a gentle hand on his arm. Bells’ expression turned pleading, almost pitiful, and his frown deepened as Aaron brushed his hand off.

“We’ve already made plans, and George wants me to move in as soon as possible -”

“Three days!” Bells interjected, taking a step into Aaron’s space and Aaron found himself back up again. “That’s all I need. Three days.”

“I’m sorry Bells,” Aaron said as his back hit the wall. The entrance to the hallway to their bedrooms was just a few feet away, Aaron could slip out and get Thomas and George -

Bells planted one hand on the wall beside Aaron, effectively blocking the way to the hallway and trapping him against the wall. Aaron flinched. He _flinched_ away from Bells, his roommate, his friend. When Aaron looked up, Bells’ face was inches from his, both arms trapping him in place against the wall.

For a second, they just looked at each other. Something was playing across Bells’ face, flickering deep in his eyes and Aaron realized in a horrible flash that he was actually a little _scared_ of Bells right now. Is this what his victims felt before they died? This helplessness, this fear, this betrayal?

Bells took a small breath, and then moved like a knife thrown through the air. One second he was still hovering inches away, and then the next he had his lips pressed against Aaron’s. Aaron froze, not quite making sense of what was happening.

The moment passed, and Aaron focused back in on the situation. He kept his lips shut against Bells’ firm mouth, and raised his hands to press firmly against Bells’ shoulders. Aaron watched as Bells opened his eyes to reveal a hardened gaze, one that made Aaron feel like a trapped animal. His chest was heaving, and neither he nor Bells moved.

“How could you do that to-”

Aaron shoved Bells back - cutting off Bells’ words - and ran the short distance to his room, slamming and locking the door shut behind him. He waited with his ear pressed to the wood, and relaxed when he heard footsteps go in the direction of Bells’ room.

He turned to face George and Thomas with a nervous smile on his face, ready to explain exactly what had happened, needing their opinions.

Aaron had expected to find them sitting on his bed, talking, having given up on actually going through his clothing. Instead, he found his boyfriends staring at him with their arms crossed over their chests, a familiar pack dangling from Thomas’ hand.

Aaron’s heart stopped. Everything about Bells was forgotten as his gaze zeroed in on his knife box in Thomas’ grip. He glanced toward his open closet - most of his clothes had been removed and he could also see his gloves lying on the ground by his bottle of peroxide.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Aaron, we don’t mean to intrude or judge, but what the fuck are these?” Thomas asked, holding out the box for Aaron to see as if Aaron didn’t already know what it was.

Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Aaron tried to smile as best he could. “Those are my knives,” he said simply, trying to come up with something, _anything_ to say.

“Why are they hidden away in your closet?” George asked. Aaron swallowed.

“Do you not keep knives in your closets?” Aaron asked, wincing at the high octave of his voice. The anxiety was building, he wanted to reach out and snatch his box from Thomas’ hand, he wanted - _needed_ -

“Most people keep knives in the kitchen,” George replied. “Or maybe with hunting supplies. Not in closets.”

Aaron took as deep a breath he could without looking suspicious - whatever good that did him now. “They’re not cooking knives, they…  are…  family heirlooms!” Aaron said. “They’re very precious, I inherited them from my grandfather, so if you could just -” Aaron reached for the box, only to have Thomas pull it away at the last moment.

Thomas cracked open the casing, looking at the collection of blades inside. “These are all fairly modern-looking,” he said.

“I had them repaired recently?” Aaron offered, already knowing how awful the excuse was. He knew his knives. There was nothing old about them. They were top-of-the-line, new blades, carefully sharpened.

Thomas and George shared a grim look. “Would you like to try again?” Thomas asked, shutting the knife case with a _clack_. “Maybe include an explanation for the chemicals and stained gloves this time?”

Aaron’s eyes flicked back and forth between Thomas and George, but found nary a crack on either of their determined expressions. “I…”

Suddenly, a thud from behind the wall - the one adjoined to Bells’ bedroom - made Aaron jump, his mouth clicking shut. He looked over at the wall, and suddenly remembered everything that happened in the living room. “Look, I’ll explain everything, I promise, but can we have this conversation at George’s?” Aaron asked.

Both of his boyfriend’s eyes narrowed, and Aaron looked at them imploringly. “Please? Bells is… Bells isn’t okay and I really think we need to get my stuff and leave and have this conversation at George’s.”

Thomas and George shared a silent conversation in looks before George nodded. “Fine,” he said, to Aaron’s immense relief. “Thomas and I got through about half your clothes before…”

Aaron nodded and pushed past them to his closet. Together, they managed to stuff Aaron’s things - his clothes, necessities, toiletries and everything else - into a meager two bags. When Aaron had dropped his knife box and gloves into one of them, he knew Thomas and George were both watching him with searching gazes.

By the end of it, there were still a lot of things Aaron was leaving behind, but he didn’t care. He just wanted out before Bells did something. Thomas and George both took a bag each, and the three of them walked out of the apartment in silence.

Just before Aaron left, he turned to drop his key onto the counter and there - lurking in the hallway door - was Bells. His cold, hard gaze bore into Aaron from across the apartment, trapping Aaron in place for a long second.

“Aaron, let's go!” Thomas called from the exterior hallway, and Aaron finally broke whatever hold Bells had on him. He turned and left, feeling oddly like he was _fleeing_ his own home.


	12. James Madison

After the worst cab ride of Aaron’s life, he found himself standing in George’s dining room. The dining room alone was fancier and more expensive-looking than Aaron’s whole apartment, and Aaron hadn’t gotten a chance to explore the rest of it yet. Thomas and George had dropped his bags at the door, marched him into the apartment and pointed him at the table. Von Steuben must have already gone, because there was no sign of the man. 

Now Aaron stood in front of them, feeling like a specimen on display. His knife box and gloves sat on the table, between where George and Thomas sat.

“Is this an interrogation or something?” Aaron asked, hoping to break the tension. Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it?” Thomas asked. George shot him a look, and Thomas leaned back into his chair, arms crossed.

Aaron sat down in the last open chair, motions stiff. He took in a deep breath through his nose, the slight whistle sounding in the air. “It could be,” he said.

George looked at Thomas and raised a brow. Thomas nodded. George looked back at Aaron and, with the least welcoming expression Aaron had seen, said, “I want you to start with the knives, maybe followed by an explanation of the chemicals and gloves we found in your closet. They are not common household items, Aaron. And, even if you were a fan of unorthodox cleaning methods, I would think they’d be kept with the rest of your cleaning supplies.”

Aaron nodded, and looked down at his hands folded in his lap. He could do this. Thousands of possible words flew through his mind - false explanations of it being a family tradition to know how to butcher something, the truth, a preference for carving wood with tools more catered to other activities. He exhaled, lips fluttering. He looked back up at George and Thomas.

“Well,” he started. “It’s an old hobby of mine - something I’ve been doing since college.”

“Oh?” Thomas asked, brow raised. He leaned forward in his chair towards Aaron, and Aaron found himself wanting to shy away. He forced himself to stay still in the seat and simply nod instead.

“Everyone’s got hobbies, don’t they? Things you do for fun or to relax?” Aaron asked. Thomas nodded, but George’s eyes narrowed. Even Aaron knew he was stalling. “Some people knit or paint or collect coins, I…” he hesitated, his options floating in his head. But looking up at his boyfriends, Aaron found the words tumbling out before he could fully commit to a story. “I kill people.”

Thomas’ eyebrows flew up his head and he looked over at George, who looked at Aaron blankly. “Do you want to run that by me again?” Thomas asked.

“My hobby is murder,” Aaron said. “I kill people to relax.”

Thomas pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair. Aaron felt both Thomas and George’s gazes boring into him. “Okay,” Thomas breathes. “So, that’s a really funny joke, but what’s really up with this stuff, huh? You just like whittling, or something, right?”

“I spend much of my off time breaking into people’s homes and killing them,” Aaron responded. Thomas paused, took a breath, and leaned forward on the table.

“Alright, what the actual  _ fuck _ Aaron?! _ ” _ Thomas said, his voice rising into a near shriek at the end. “I know I said that was funny, but that’s honestly kind of a sick thing to joke about.”

“I’m not,” Aaron said. Thomas’ eyes widened, his gaze searching Aaron’s face until he froze.

“Oh my god,” Thomas breathed. “You’re serious.” Aaron nodded. “You’re actually goddamn serious. George, he’s actually serious.” Thomas turned to George, who’s face was still stony. “I know we were like, joking about it back at Aaron’s but he’s actually… oh my fucking god.”

“Aaron,” George said, “Would you like to clarify or expand on the claim that you, quote, ‘kill people?’”

“There’s not much to clarify!” Thomas snaps. “He’s… we’re dating a murderer.”

“Let him speak,” George said, not taking his eyes off Aaron. Aaron glanced about, starting to fidget.

“What would you like to know?” Aaron asked.

Thomas slapped his hand on the table. “Exactly what you mean by the fact that you kill people would be a good place to start!”

Aaron shrugged. “I would prefer answering direct questions,” he said. “There’s a lot that goes into it.”

“Well,” George said. “I can agree that there is quite a bit to cover.” George raised his hands to his temples and took a moment to himself. “Let’s start with the beginning, shall we? When did you start this… hobby?”

“College,” Aaron recited. “First semester, freshman year, finals week.” George raised one eyebrow and nodded.

“And what prompted it?”

Aaron paused, gathering his thoughts. There was a part of him screaming that he shouldn’t be telling them all this, but he was too far in now. “All my life, I’ve had this… anxiety, I suppose you could call it,” he begins. “I get stressed and it makes me feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to describe it. But for the first part of my life, it was like I walked around ready to explode. And nothing worked to relieve it. Therapy, meds, exercise, I tried  _ everything _ . I couldn’t get rid of it.

“So I just dealt with it. And then that first finals week I was… I was just looking for a quiet place to study. So I went to the library and found a corner to work in. But then this guy came in. Must have been drunk or something because he wouldn’t leave me alone. He was so loud and I kept telling him to shut up and let me work but he just got up in my face and-”

Aaron takes a breath. He can feel that familiar static growing inside him as he talks. His eyes fell to his knife box as he recalled the memory. He could still smell the booze on the guy’s breath as he leaned into Aaron’s space. “The next thing I knew I had my hands wrapped around his throat and he was dead. He was dead and I felt good. For the first time in my life I felt… okay. All the anxiety was just gone. I remember thinking that I  _ should  _ have been panicking but I just wasn’t.

“I have no idea how I got away with that first one, but I ended up dumping the guy’s body in the woods and when they found him they couldn’t pull any prints or evidence. I kept waiting to feel bad about it but… nothing. I didn’t care. I felt great and I didn’t care. I mean, the anxiety eventually came back, but when it did I decided to run a little experiment.”

“You mean you decided to kill someone else?” Thomas interrupted. Aaron glanced up at him.

“Yeah, if you want to be  _ crass  _ about it,” Aaron said. Thomas quirked his lip.

“We’re talking about  _ murder _ , not a fart at a fancy dinner,” Thomas drawled. George shot him a look, and Thomas fell silent.

“Aaron, continue,” George said.

“Well, there’s not much more. The experiment worked, obviously. So the next time I felt the anxiety come back I did it again. I kept waiting for it to  _ stop  _ working, but it never did. It’s the only thing that does so… I kill people.”

Thomas blinked. “So you decided to keep killing people. You thought your  _ best course of action  _ was to commit multiple cases of  _ murder _ .”

“I didn’t have very many options.” Aaron looked back down at his hands. “I tried everything else,  _ everything. _ Only murder helped. I don’t know why, but I’ve accepted it, because I need to be able to work. I wouldn’t have gotten through college otherwise.” He looked back up at them and smiled. “I wouldn’t have met you.” It probably wasn’t the best timing, but the words were there, and at this rate he was sure that he’d say anything that came to mind.

George nodded, and Aaron calmed. George was being rational about this, a small comfort. “Aaron, I feel like I shouldn’t need to tell you that your hobby is illegal.”

Aaron shrugged. “I’ve come to terms with it.”

“You-” Thomas choked. “You went to  _ law school _ , we’re working on a murder case. You’re in charge of finding a serial killer! And you’ve ‘come to terms’ with the fact that murder is illegal?!”

“About that…” Aaron trailed, a slight smile stretching across his face. Thomas’ brow furrowed, and then horrified realization broke across his face.

“No,” Thomas said, standing up from his seat. “No, no, no,  _ no. _ ”

“Yep,” Aaron said. Thomas shook his head.

“You’re not.”

“I am."

Thomas eyes stretched impossibly wider. He ran his hands through his hair, stepping back from the table in shock. “Oh my god. I’m dating Mr. Grin.”

Aaron winced. “Please, never call me that again. It has to be the worst moniker I’ve ever heard.” Thomas looked down at him in disbelief.

“You… you’re a  _ serial killer  _ and you’re trying to argue what your  _ name  _ should be?!”

“You have to admit it’s a terrible name,” Aaron said. “I really don’t know what else you expect me to do at this point.”

Aaron could tell that Thomas wanted to scream at him, could see the anger and frustration and  _ betrayal _ in Thomas’ expressive eyes. It hurt, and Aaron clenched his hand.

George cleared his throat and said, “this isn’t going very well.”

“No,” Thomas said. “It’s not.”

George looked back at Thomas. “Love,” he said. “Sit back down. We have quite a bit to work through.” 

Thomas narrowed his eyes but did as he was told, muttering to himself as he returned to his chair. “‘We have quite a bit to work through’ he says like we’re talking about gambling debt.”

“So,” George said, looking back at Aaron. “You’re Mr. Grin.”

Aaron gritted his teeth, but nodded.

“I could - I should - arrest you this very moment and have you thrown in jail.” George’s voice was still calm, but there was a sort of cold fury burning in his gaze. “I have assigned you the task of catching Mr. Grin,” he continued. “And you’ve been here the entire time.”

Aaron nodded again, not trusting himself to say the right thing.

“Wait,” Thomas said, voice full of disgust. Thomas’ eyes were focused spread out on the table in front of them. “These...these are Mr. Grin’s knives. You-you-you used these knives to  _ kill _ people.”

“I mean technically no,” Aaron said. “I strangle people to death and then cut up their faces with those knives. They’ve never actually  _ killed _ .”

Thomas looked at him with such anger. “Oh that makes it  _ so much better _ .” He looked down at the box and suddenly blanched. “I touched those,” he said quietly. “I  _ touched  _ Mr. Grin’s murder knives.” Aaron thought about correcting him again, but decided against it. “Oh my god those knives killed Tench.”

George inhaled a sharp breath, and Aaron winced again. “Actually-”

“You killed Tench!” Thomas yelled, looking even more horrified than before. “Tench was our friend! What did he ever do to you?!”

He counted to five before he risked a look up at George. What had been a hint of fury before was now a hot blaze. “I-I didn’t kill Tench,” Aaron said. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?!” Thomas said, incredulous. “What? Do you have an accomplice now?”

“No!” Aaron reached a hand out across the table, trying to pacify their anger. “There’s a copycat! That’s why I kept bringing up the possibility! There’s someone else! I didn’t kill Tench, and I didn’t kill Von Steuben’s boys either.” Aaron frowned at the table. “Those were all so sloppy too. Whoever did that was an amateur.”

“There’s a copycat killer?” George asked, voice a terrifyingly calm whisper. “Even if I had you arrested right now, there’d still be someone else to deal with.”

Aaron nodded, frowning. “Unfortunately.”

George leaned back into his seat. “We can’t have you arrested - you’re our only clue, really.” Aaron flinched, looking down at the floor. He was a  _ clue _ now?

Thomas turned to George and whispered, “What do you mean you can’t have him arrested?! He’s a serial killer. He’s literally killed people. Many people!”

“Forty-six,” Aaron muttered, but both Thomas and George ignored him.

George shrugged and said, “did you think there was a copycat killer?”

“Why would I?” Thomas asked. “Sure, the theory was mentioned - by the killer, might I add - but I never seriously considered it!”

“And look where we are now,” George shot back.

They both turned to him, and Aaron swallowed around the lump in his throat before saying, “I could stop killing. Make it easier to find the copycat.”

“And then what?” Thomas asked. “Go back to your murder spree like nothing changed?!”

Aaron narrowed his eyes and said, voice coming out sharper than intended, “You just said I’m nothing more than a clue! What else do you want me to say?! You want to find the killer, well, I’m right here! But like George said, there’s still someone else out there pretending to be me - and we don’t know they’re going to stop any time soon. I’ll tell you which ones are theirs, and I’ll stop for a bit.”

“‘For a bit,’” Thomas repeated. Aaron just frowned.

“Well, Thomas, what do you want me to do?” Aaron asked.

“How about ‘not kill people  _ period _ ?’” Thomas snapped. “That would great if you did that.” He turned back to George, body closed off from Aaron as if Aaron wasn’t sitting there at all. “George, what the  _ fuck  _ are we going to do?”

George sighed and said, “there’s isn’t much we can do. We needed to find Mr. Grin, who we now have. We still need to find the copycat, which we wouldn’t have known about without Aaron. Who, might I add, is still someone we’re both dating.”

Aaron perked up, but neither George nor Thomas looked his way.

“What?! We’re just going to keep dating him?! Let him go back to killing people?” Thomas asked. “What are you saying?”

“No.” George shook his head. “I’m saying we use our resources, and who better to find a copycat than the serial killer himself?”

“But George-”

George held up a hand to cut Thomas off. “No buts,” he said. “We don’t know who the copycat is, but they somehow know enough about us that they were able to choose victims we’d notice, victims that would mean something to us. You both knew Tench, but he was my secretary. And Von Steuben’s boys? I saw a close friend of mine lose two men he loved in a matter of days.” George closed his eyes for a second, breathing in. “Do you know how I’d feel if I were in his position? The copycat’s coming after people close to me. Thomas, they could very well going after people close to you. We have to be prepared, and part of being prepared is going to be acting as if nothing has changed.”

“So? You’re going to have me act as if nothing has changed?” Thomas asked, still ignoring Aaron. “Pretend I’m not dating an actual serial killer?”

“Yes,” George said, tone and expression allowing no room for argument. “That is exactly what I’m saying. We’ll find the copycat and then we’ll deal with Aaron. Until then? We’ll keep him under lock and key. And,” George paused for a moment, “I don’t know about you, but even knowing this? I can’t just  _ hate _ him.”

Thomas shook his head. “You’re a better man than me,” he said. He stood up again and turned away from the both of them. “I need some air.” Before either man could speak, Thomas was out the door and into the darkening evening. The door shut with a slam behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame slightly.

For a moment, the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of George’s grandfather clock. That, and Aaron could swear the sound of his pounding heart could be heard a mile away. Aaron shifted in his seat, trying to force down every ounce of anxiety and hurt inside him. Now wasn’t the time.

“Do…” Aaron trailed, forcing himself to breathe and speak clearly. “Do you really  _ not  _ hate me?” He couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet George’s gaze. George sighed, leaning forward onto the table, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

“No, Aaron.”

The logical part of Aaron told him that ‘not hating him’ wasn’t exactly the highest bar to clear, his heart still lept at the thought. George didn’t hate him. After a moment, George inhaled deeply and sat up. “Would you like something to eat? We haven’t had dinner.”

Aaron blinked, finally looking up as George stood and walked in the direction of the kitchen. “I… I guess.”

“Okay,” George said. “I was going to make you and Thomas dinner tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Aaron said quickly. George shot him a tight-lipped smile.

“What was it you said about people and their hobbies? Stress-relief, was it? Let me cook.”

Aaron nodded, and George disappeared into the kitchen.

Aaron couldn’t have stopped the smile from spreading across his face if he tried. George didn’t hate him. George was making him  _ dinner. _ George knew who he was, what he did, and was still acting as he planned before he knew. Something in him relaxed and he leaned back into the chair, one worry gone, the weight on his shoulders lessened.

Thomas was gone, but Thomas would come back, and Thomas would be difficult but they’d figure it out. They had to. George wasn’t giving them much of a choice.

“Aaron,” George called from the kitchen. “Do you prefer corn or broccoli? I don’t have anything too fancy, but I can at least give you those options. I’m making chicken.”

He got up and walked over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watched George root through the food. “Broccoli,” he said. “Thomas likes broccoli.”

“Of course,” George said, grabbing the head of broccoli out of the fridge. “Good call.”

It was domestic. Familiar. And George was still shooting him a small smile as he turned on some jazz and started to cook, dancing around the kitchen with seasonings and pans in hand as he moved everything to wear it needed to go. George knew, and here they still were.

There was a knock at the door, and George turned his head to look at Aaron from where he was standing at the stove. “It’s probably Thomas,” he said, looking back at the pan. “Go get it.”

Aaron took a slow breath, nodded, and turned to walk towards the door. The moment he cracked open the door even the slightest bit, Thomas pushed his way through it, causing Aaron to stumble back so as not to get run over.

“Welcome back,” Aaron said, and just earned a glare from Thomas. A second later, the look softened just the tiniest bit, and Thomas turned away. “George is in the kitchen,” Aaron offered to Thomas’ back, and just got a nod in return.

Thomas walked away from him, heading into the kitchen. Aaron could hear George greet him, and then Thomas muttered something back too low for Aaron to pick it out. Before George could reply, Aaron’s phone chimed from inside his pocket.

Aaron pulled it out, peering down at the news alert: ‘Mr. Grin Victim Found.’ Aaron broke out into a smile. There, he had proof. There was someone else out there claiming victims in his name. He unlocked his phone, waiting for the full story to load as he walked into the kitchen.

“George, Thomas,” Aaron called, “here, see. Copycat.” Aaron looked down at his phone to check and see if the story was up. It was, tiny electronic print accompanied by a picture. Aaron’s stomach dropped the moment he saw who’s face was peering out at him from the screen.

_ Tonight’s victim _ , the caption underneath read,  _ James Madison. _


	13. John Laurens

“Hm?” George asked, dropping the dishrag in his hands and looking over at Aaron. Aaron glanced up from James’ picture on his phone. Thomas was standing there, leaning against the counter, completely oblivious.

“Um…” Aaron held his phone as close to his chest as possible, feeling the little ball of anxiety start to gather in his stomach. George frowned, taking a step towards him.

“Everything okay?” He asked. Aaron swallowed, the words stuck in his throat. He glanced over at Thomas, who was still looking at him with a guarded gaze. For a brief second, Aaron thought about lying. He thought about holding it back and letting Thomas find out on his own.

“Aaron?” George asked again, coming even closer. Aaron’s eyes snapped to him. He could tell George first, maybe he’ll help soften the blow. So Aaron crossed the remaining distance between them, made sure Thomas couldn’t see, and held out his phone to George.

Aaron could see the exact moment George processed what the implications of what he saw were. The confused, curious expression on his face darkened into grim understanding and he looked up at Aaron.

“I was with you all afternoon and evening,” Aaron said quickly. “I was here. You know that.”

“What is it?” Thomas asked, standing from the counter. George’s gaze flicked over toward Thomas, and he straightened. Thomas must have seen something in George’s expression, because his brow furrowed in worry. “What’s happened?”

“Well, I believe we have confirmation that Aaron does indeed have a copycat,” George said. Thomas glanced at Aaron’s phone, the screen still turned away from him. “Before we tell you something, you need to remember that Aaron has been with us the entire night, and I personally have not let him out of sight since we left work.”

“Okay,” Thomas said, guarded concern in his voice. “Just tell me what’s happened.”

George and Aaron shared a look, George nodded and Aaron slowly held out his phone for Thomas to see. It took a long few moments, with nothing but the distant ticking of the clock sounding in the apartment. Thomas’ face went almost completely blank. Slowly, he reached out and took Aaron’s phone from him, holding it almost reverently in one hand. Aaron just let him have it, made himself wait in silence despite the pounding of his heart in his chest.

After a long silence, Thomas gently put Aaron’s phone down on the counter behind him and hung his head. George glanced over at Aaron, and then took a tentative step towards Thomas. “Thomas, love?” George asked. “Talk to us.”

When Thomas looked up, it was with a mask of barely contained rage. His gaze moved right past George and zeroed directly onto Aaron. “James,” is all Thomas said, his voice deceptively light. “James is… he’s dead.”

Aaron nodded, unsure. Thomas took a low, shuddering breath. “My best friend is dead,” Thomas began, “and it’s all my boyfriend’s fault.”

“Thomas,” George started, but Thomas just kept talking.

“No, no, it’s true. Don’t you try and say otherwise George, this is Aaron’s fault!” As Thomas spoke, the lightness in his voice began to drop. The anger started to weave its way into his tone, turning his words red hot and biting. “If it wasn’t for him, this other guy wouldn’t be coming after us and James  _ wouldn’t be dead! _ ”

“Thomas,” Aaron started, trying to break in. “I -”

“Oh no -” Thomas took a step towards him, pushing past George. “You don’t get to try to make excuses, Aaron. Today’s been stressful and more than a little weird and I’m not sure what to do.” Thomas smiled, unfamiliar and sharp, dangerous. “But, I do know that my best friend is dead and it’s  _ your fault _ .” Thomas laughed and continued, “you know, I think I might understand what you were saying earlier - about needing it.”

Aaron stepped away from Thomas, his mind flashing back to his confrontation with Monroe not too long ago. His back was pressed against the counter, and out of the corner of his eye Aaron saw George start to type something on his phone. “Thomas,” he said. “I don’t think you-”

“No,” Thomas interrupted. “You don’t get to tell me what you think about this. I’m going to tell you what I think, and I think that I’m  _ very _ angry right now and you’re very conveniently in front of me.”

Thomas stepped closer, and Aaron felt something like fear creep up his throat. This was wrong, but the fire burning in Thomas’ eyes told him that this wasn’t going to have an easy end. His hand searched the counter behind him, and he closed his eyes and took in a breath when it closed around the familiar handle of a knife, sitting in the block.

“Aaron Burr,” Thomas said. “To think I actually convinced myself I loved you-”

“George!” a familiar voice called out. “I need your help! This jar is being particularly stubborn. I know you got me those things that are supposed to get a grip but I just haven’t figured out how-”

Lafayette turned the corner into the kitchen the same moment Thomas lunged. Aaron dodged to the side, long ingrained instincts kicking in. Thomas almost crashed into the counter where Aaron was, and just managed to keep himself from stumbling into it. Aaron raised his hands - including the one with a knife - in defense, backpedaling to gain room.

Thomas started forward, ready to follow but stopped short. “You’re holding a knife,” he said, outraged, “you were ready to kill me!”

“So were you!” Aaron shot back, trying to put as much room between them as possible. A dark corner of his mind was telling him to scoot around, to flank Thomas and get his arm around Thomas’ throat.

“That’s different!” Thomas shouted. “You’ve actually done it before!” Aaron held his blade out between them in a warning, his nerves on fire.

“Everyone’s gotta have a first time Thomas,” Aaron said. Thomas’ eyes flared wide.

“You’re talking about  _ murder _ !”

Aaron nodded. “I thought we established that’s what I do,” he said, the words tumbling out on impulse. Thomas’ jaw hung open, rendered speechless and they glared at each other from across the kitchen.

“Would someone like to back up and explain what the  _ fuck  _ is happening?!”

Thomas and Aaron’s heads both snapped over to see Lafayette - a pickle jar in one hand - standing by George.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asked, suddenly completely aware of what this looked like - him and Thomas, screaming at eachother while he himself held a knife.

“I think the better question is why are you threatening Thomas with a  _ knife _ ?” Lafayette asked. “And talking about murder and…” he trailed, looking between Aaron and Thomas almost helplessly.

George cleared his throat. “It’s come to my and Thomas’ awareness,” he started, “that Aaron is perhaps a serial killer.”

“Perhaps?” Lafayette asked, eyes wide. George paused, then sighed.

“No, he’s definitely one.”

Aaron shoot George a look. “Are we just going to tell everyone now?” He asked. George leveled him with a solemn gaze.

“Considering what Gilbert has walked into, I thought the truth the most appropriate.”

“That’s not just something you drop on someone like that, George!” Aaron shot back.

Thomas gave him a flat look. “Do you hear yourself right now?” Thomas asked. “You are literally holding a knife, I feel like the context is there. And! ‘That’s not just something you drop on someone like that’ as if that’s not what you did like maybe two hours ago tops!”

“Oh,” Lafayette said. “I see that you two are having a domestic dispute. I’m just going to -” Lafayette pointed toward the door - “leave. I’ll come back once you’ve figured this out.”

George’s hand darted out to grab Lafayette’s arm. “No you don’t,” he said. “We need you to fix this. I was actually, uh, in the process of calling you.”

“Your serial-killer boyfriend is trying to kill your other boyfriend and your first instinct is to call me?” Lafayette asked, brow raised.

“Uh, yes,” George said.

Lafayette turned back to Thomas and Aaron. “So,” he started. “What sparked this? Even if you are a serial killer, I don’t think you’d kill Thomas.”

“He started it,” Aaron said, waving the knife to point it at Thomas.

“Oh dear.” Lafayette sighed. “Aaron, put the knife down. We’re going to sit down and talk about this like adults.”

Aaron slowly walked across the kitchen to put the knife back in its block, three sets of eyes tracking the motion. Thomas carefully moved away at the same time, keeping as much of a distance between him and Aaron as possible.

“Into the dining room with you,” Lafayette said. “George, get the wine.”

None of them spoke a word as they took their seats, Lafayette at Aaron’s side. The silence continued as George came in and poured the wine into four glasses. Aaron didn’t reach for his, eyes flickering between the three men.

Lafayette drained his glass in one motion and set it back down. “So,” he started. “I do believe this is the first major test of your relationship.”

Thomas snorted. “That’s one way to describe it.” Lafayette took a breath, and grabbed the bottle of wine from George. As he poured himself another glass, he said:

“As I was saying, your first major test of your relationship is about trust.”

“Trust?” Thomas started. “I’m sorry, ‘trust’ isn’t the issue. The issue is that Aaron is a  _ murderer  _ and he killed James!” Lafayette jolted, almost spilling his wine. He looked over at Aaron with wide eyes.

“I did not!” Aaron protested even before Lafayette could speak. “I did not, I was here all night and George can provide my alibi.”

“It’s still your fault,” Thomas snapped. Aaron looked at Lafayette and motioned in Thomas’ direction.

“This is why I had to threaten him with a knife.”

“...I’m not sure I follow the chain of events,” Lafayette said. “George?”

George let out a deep sigh, and gave Lafayette the simplest rundown of the evening as he could. “Aaron told us he’s Mr. Grin and that there’s a copycat killer. James Madison is reported dead. Aaron didn’t kill him, but Thomas made the connection that there wouldn’t be a copycat if Aaron hadn’t been there to copy. Thomas was angry and hurt and lashed out at Aaron. Aaron responded by grabbing a knife. And that’s when you walked in.”

“Wow,” Lafayette said. “This is all rather exciting, isn’t it?”

“You’re not helpful at all,” Thomas said.

Lafayette shook his head. “I am very helpful. See! You’re not trying to kill your boyfriend anymore!”

“We have to take pleasure in the small things,” George said.

“Exactly!” Lafayette said, smiling. “George knows what he’s talking about!”

Aaron cleared his throat. “Can we skip to the part where we talk through this so we can move on with our lives, please. I’m very tired and would like to go to sleep. We’re going to have to deal with James’ death in the morning, so it’s really for the best we do this now.”

Thomas tried to lunge across the table at Aaron, but George’s arm across his chest held him I back. “How dare you!” Thomas said. “You’re saying that as if it’s just going to be another day at the office! As if everything isn’t falling into pieces!”

“It is just going to be another day at the office,” Aaron responded. “It’s literally our job.” 

Lafayette sighed. “We have a long night ahead of us, don’t we?”

\--------------

Of all the ways Aaron had wondered what it’d be like to walk into the building in the morning with Thomas and George at his side, the hours he had spent thinking of a domestic morning start, not once had the nearly palpable tension been present.

Each step they took held a certain weight, the knowledge that the two men with him could turn him in at any moment were he to give a reason. The only thing separating him from a life sentence was their mutual desire to find out who the copycat killer was.

Aaron could feel the weight of eyes upon them as they made their way to his office. It was different when it was one of their own. Tench had been bad, but James was so much worse. Lafayette had traveled separately, but was waiting for them in Aaron’s office. There were already files and boxes waiting on Aaron’s desk for them, and Aaron noticed Thomas’ refusal to look at them.

Instead, the taller man walked over to the walls and whiteboards of pictures and red string. “So,” Thomas started. “Which of these are yours?”

“Everything but that board,” Aaron said, pointing at the already seperated photos of the copycat victims. Thomas glanced over to that board, and nodded.

“Makes sense you would have arranged them like that,” Thomas said, words clipped. George just sighed from where he stood against the wall. Thomas went to approach the whiteboard, then stopped and looked at the collection of other victims.

“You kept changing things, didn’t you?” Thomas asked, realization in his voice. “I thought I was going crazy and you kept moving information and strings around to throw me off.”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “Oops.”

Thomas took a deep breath, turned away from Aaron’s victims and focused on the copycat whiteboard. Aaron almost went to him, but instead made his way to stand by George’s side. “You know,” he said, “I’m going to have to give you a list of names.” George cocked an eyebrow, and Aaron continued: “We’re missing a few people from my early days. I’ll write them down so you can pull the files. If you want a complete record that is.”

George hesitated, then nodded. “That would be nice.”

“No problem,” Aaron said. He looked over at his desk, the police reports from James’ murder were already out and ready to go.

“I took the liberty of sorting it all out for you,” Lafayette said. “Just to make it a bit easier.”

Aaron nodded, went to thank him but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Aaron, Lafayette and George all shared a look, and Aaron glanced over at Thomas’ turned back. He went over to his office door and opened it to find Alexander.

“Hey,” Alexander started. “I heard about -”

“Get out Hamilton,” Thomas said, interrupting the shorter man. For a moment, Alexander looked as if he was going to retort, to shoot something angry back but instead he just refocused on Aaron.

“I heard about James and wanted to offer condolences,” he said. Thomas stiffened, if that was even possible considering how tightly wound he already was, but Alexander just kept talking. “I know he wasn’t my biggest fan and I mean, the feeling was mutual but he was a good guy.”

“Thank you,” Aaron said, trying to think of some way to usher Alexander out of here before Thomas snapped and said something too revealing. Alexander nodded, looked around the room.

“Are those the reports?” Alexander asked. Without waiting for confirmation, he continued: “It’s kind of fucked up you have to work his case too, you know?” He gently pushed past Aaron and looked down at the files on the desk. “I mean, I get it, you guys are the Mr. Grin lawyers -” Aaron swore he saw Thomas flinch - “and giving it to anyone else in the building would be just as messed up but still.”

“Alexander,” Aaron said. “It’s probably best that you shut up.”

“Probably.” Alexander shrugged and lifted the top off the unopened cardboard box. “Is this the evidence?”

Thomas shook his head and said,“there’s not usually anything worth looking at. Mr. Grin doesn’t leave behind things, really. Any clues will be in the report.”

“What’s this then?” Alexander asked, pulling a book from the box. “It looks like a journal of some sort.”

Aaron looked over at Thomas who turned around at Alexander’s words. Thomas walked over to the desk and looked over Alexander’s shoulder. “That’s odd,” he said. “That’s never happened before.” Thomas looked up at Aaron in question, and he shook his head. “James wasn’t one to carry a journal. Is there anything special about it? It could belong to... Mr. Grin.” Thomas frowned.

“Can I?” Alexander asked, moving to open the journal, looking toward George. George nodded, and Alexander flipped open the cover. “What if this is that thing in bad crime novels where the killer leaves like a manifesto somewhere like… ‘ten days and… all the …’” Alexander trailed, his eyes going wide.

“Aaron,” Alexander said, pawing through the pages frantically. “Aaron, come here.”

Aaron crossed the room to where Alexander was, every other eye in the room on him. Was there something in those pages that incriminated him? But when he got close, and got a good look at the old brown leather of the journal Aaron’s heart sank.

“Aaron this is  _ John’s _ ,” Alexander said. Aaron peered over Alexander’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of a pencil-sketched drawing of Alexander. “This is John’s art.”

“Impossible,” Aaron said, the lie thick in his mouth. Alexander shook his head.

“No, look. The signature is John’s, and I recognize all this, and these are pictures of  _ me, _ ” Alexander babbled, eyes glued to the pages. “Oh my god, don’t you remember? I spent hours looking through his place for this journal and I couldn’t find it.” Alexander looked up at Aaron, hands stilling for a second. “How did this end up with James?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron said, truthfully. That journal should be somewhere on Aaron’s bookshelf back at his old place, or in a box waiting to be unpacked.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Thomas said. “James didn’t have it the last time I was at his place.”

Alexander looked down at the page open before him. On the left side was aimless doodles of animals and a caricature of a long-forgotten professor. On the right side was the singular drawing of Aaron. Aaron looked down at his own face, a three-fourth view of himself he knew very well.

“Did Mr. Grin have it then?” Alexander asked, almost to himself. His breath caught, and he whirled on Aaron. “I told you,” he said. “I  _ told  _ you John was murdered! It wasn’t an accident, he was killed and no one believed me!”

“Alexander -”

“And I told you this psychopath is following me! He’s following  _ me  _ and he killed James because of me and he killed  _ John  _ because of me and stole his drawings.” Alexander shut the book, clutching it to his chest. “I was right, Aaron. I was  _ right  _ and you didn’t believe me.”

“Alexander!” Aaron snapped, grabbing Alexander by the arms. “That’s a lot of leaps you just took -”

“They’re not leaps, I’m right!” Alexander shrugged Aaron’s hands off, backpedaling away. “I told you John would never overdose and you didn’t believe me.”

“The police said -”

“The police were wrong!”

“Alexander,” George broke in. “I know that this is a shock, but I think it’s best that you leave.”

Alexander looked up at George, tears in his eyes, and said, “I can’t, George. This is  _ John’s _ .” His voice broke on the last word, and Aaron felt a pang in his chest. He shot a panicked look toward Lafayette, knowing that anything he said would only make the situation worse.

George placed his hands on Alexander’s shoulders, looked at Alexander and said, “you’re right, and I can only imagine how unexpected this is. But, I think you need to go home. You’re not going to be able to get any work done like this.”

Alexander shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can’t go home. I need to do something. Let me help. We don’t know where this came from, George. I knew John, I can  _ help _ .”

“No,” George said. “You’re going to take the rest of the day off.” He looked up at Lafayette, already standing by his side, and said, “take Alexander to Eliza. Call her, make sure she knows what’s going on.”

Lafayette nodded and placed his hand on Alexander’s back. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

It had been years since Aaron had seen Alexander like this - since John’s death. He was the one who had done this, and for the first time, Aaron almost felt regret.

Lafayette and Alexander walked out of Aaron’s office, leaving him alone with Thomas and George for the first time since he and Thomas had tried to kill each other.

Thomas grabbed the journal where it had been abandoned on the desk and looked up at Aaron and asked, “what does this mean? You obviously recognize it.”

“Well,” Aaron said, nodding. “I killed John and kept that as a souvenir of sorts.” George let out a breath beside him, likely at the admission of guilt.

Thomas dropped the journal. “A souvenir?!”

“John was...special.” Aaron flexed his hands at his sides. “I don’t really hold onto things like that, but John was different. He’s the only one I kept something from.”

“Different? How so?” Thomas asked, eyes narrowed.

Aaron looked to the side, not quite willing to look either of his boyfriends in the eye. “It was one of my first. Not first kill, exactly, but the first for Alexander. He was going to move in with John, you see.”

“ _ For  _ Alexander?” George asked. Aaron nodded, and turned to Thomas.

“You finally want to know how all these people -” Aaron motioned at his wall of victims - “connect?” Thomas nodded.

“Please, actually.”

“Well,” Aaron said. “I choose the people whose deaths would be the most convenient or otherwise positive events for Alexander. Usually, these days it’s whoever he complains about, but it used to be what was best for him. You know, if he was up for a job and was just competing against one guy the other guy would… have a little accident.”

George shook his head and sat down. “You…” he started. “You’ve been guiding Alexander’s life through murder? All those times he gone on about how things just seem to fall into place? That was  _ you _ ?”

Aaron nodded.

“And now that you’ve ‘given’ him this good life you just kill the people who annoy him?” Thomas asked. “Why didn’t you just, oh, I don’t know, not kill people?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I told you. It’s something I  _ need  _ to do.”

“Well you’re not doing it anymore!” Thomas said, voice harsher, emotion coming through. “Your past might be your past, but I haven’t accepted it yet and I never will if you don’t stop it!”

Aaron swallowed, but said nothing, eyes locked onto Thomas’ own. There was a heavy pause - Aaron was starting to unfortunately get used to those from Thomas - and then a dark look of realization flickered across Thomas’ face.

“Wait,” Thomas said.

“What?”

“You… you kill people that annoy Alexander.” Thomas said. “The people he complains about, that’s your kill list.”

Aaron nodded.

Thomas’ eyes went wide. “Alexander hates me. I was on your kill list, wasn’t I?” Thomas asked. “You’ve thought about killing me!”

He shut his eyes and grimaced. “Yes,” he admitted. “Before I got to know you.”

“Oh my god,” Thomas breathed out. “You’ve thought about killing me, how close were you yesterday? You said it’s a compulsion - I know what that means, Aaron! How close were you? How close were you to killing me last night?!”

Aaron dug his nails into the meat of his palm and said, “if it had gotten too close one of us would be dead right now.”

“You’re completely serious, aren’t you?” Thomas asked. Aaron nodded.

“Well, you’re not  _ on the list _ anymore, so it’s less likely my brain is going to get stuck on you,” he said, realizing only a moment too late that it wasn’t the most comforting thing in the world to say.

“Oh, so there’s a chance that whatever it is inside you that makes you  _ kill  _ people will ‘get stuck’ on me?” Thomas asked.

Aaron shrugged and said, “well, I mean, it can get stuck on anybody. But, for what it’s worth, it’s as likely to get stuck on you or George as it is on Alexander.”

“But you wouldn’t kill Alexander,” George cut in. “You kill for him.”

“Yes,” Aaron said, nodding, “That is correct.”

Thomas looked at him for a moment. “You’d kill  _ for _ me? For George?”

Aaron looked down at his feet and said, “yes, I would.”

No one said anything, and Aaron felt the anxiety build in his chest. He pushed it down, trying to force it away. He was going to need to learn to deal with it again, his outlet gone.

“So,” George said. “Back to John’s journal. I’m correct in thinking this is ‘John Laurens’ John, yes?” Aaron nodded. “So, if you had this, how did it end up at Madison’s?”

Aaron looked over at the journal on the desk. “I don’t know. I thought I grabbed it when we moved me out of Bells’ apartment.” He narrowed his eyes. “Leaving something like this at a scene is such a rookie move too, easy to track, garners attention…” Something tickled in the back of Aaron’s mind.

Who could have gotten a hold of John’s journal without Aaron noticing? Had the copycat broken into his apartment? No, impossible, there’s no way someone could have broken in without him or Bells knowing.

Bells.

“I know who the copycat is,” Aaron said.


	14. Gilbert

“Would you like to elaborate?” George asked after five whole minutes of silence. Aaron blinked, jolted out of his train of thought. In his mind, he’d been giving a whole presentation on how Bells was guilty, but apparently he’d said none of it aloud.

“Oh, yeah, I guess,” Aaron said, trying to order his thoughts properly. Thomas cocked an eyebrow.

“You guess?” He asked. Aaron flinched at his hard tone, but nodded.

“It’s Jonathan Bellamy,” Aaron said, “my old roommate.”

“The one we just moved you away from?” George asked. Aaron nodded again.

“He’s the only one who could have had access to John’s journal,” he explained. “And why all the copycat kills are around us - because he has to know I’m Mr. Grin!” Aaron’s mouth moved as his brain put the pieces together. “Of course! There’s no way he  _ never  _ saw the blood on my clothes. I just thought he was color blind or something!”

“Are you serious?” Thomas asked. “You thought he didn’t see bloodstains because he was  _ color blind _ .”

“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds dumb,” Aaron shot back, “but he never said anything! He never even questioned why I was out late a lot, or why I owned a bunch of knives or… anything else.”

“Are you saying,” George said, “that not only did your roommate never turn you in for  _ murder _ , but he’s now actively killing and copying your methodology?”

“That is absolutely what I’m saying,” Aaron said. George frowned.

“But why?” He asked. Aaron went to speak, then stopped. Memories from last night - Bells yelling, pleading for him to stay, pressing him up against a wall,  _ kissing  _ him - flood his head.

“I’m not… I’m not sure,” he said. “He… he was acting really oddly last night, when I went to tell him I was moving out.”

“Well, if he’s attached to you enough to copy your murder technique, I wouldn’t be surprised he wouldn’t want you moving out on him,” George mused. “Though, how -”

“ _ I knew something was up with Bells! _ ” Thomas exclaimed, cutting George off mid-sentence. “That night I had dinner at Aaron’s, I  _ thought  _ something was weird about him. But I couldn’t put a finger on it.”

“One rarely assumes someone’s a murderer,” Aaron said, only to earn a flat glare from Thomas.

“Oh, no really?” Thomas drawled. “But it’s not even the murder thing, well, I mean, I guess it is, but-”

“You said he was acting weird,” George cut in. “What did he do?”

Aaron brought a hand up to scratch at his head, looking away from them. “Uh,” he started. “He kissed me.”

“He kissed you?!” Thomas said. “And you didn’t say this earlier?!”

“It’s not like there was really the opportunity for it, Thomas!” Aaron shot back. “You know, you were all a bit preoccupied with the murder thing.”

Thomas cut his hands through the air. “For good reason!” he said. “And Bellamy kissing you could be a motive! He never liked me, and now we know why!”

“Huh.” Aaron rocked back onto his heels. “You might be onto something.”

“We can use this,” George said. “We can say he got caught because he got sloppy, because he got emotionally involved. That’s why we were having such a difficult time getting any information was because Mr. Grin kept himself so distant.”

Thomas nodded and said, “and, you know, the fact that Aaron kept changing everything to cover his own ass.”

“But no one else knows that,” George said. “We can use this. Move forward.”

“Pin all of it on Bells?” Aaron asked. It hurt to think about, really. The idea of someone else getting the credit wasn’t one Aaron had considered before. “Would we even be able to pull that off?”

Thomas walked over to the wall and tapped the picture of Samuel Seabury’s face. “Of course we can,” he said. “We have everything we need. You guys lived together, so anything that could be traced to you possibly can just be presented as belonging to him.”

“How are we going to do that though?” Aaron asked, stepping to Thomas’ side. “Bells is random, even we were surprised. We’re going to need to bring up solid evidence, Thomas. John’s journal isn’t enough and how do we even explain the college murders? Bells didn’t go to school with us, I don’t think.”

“You don’t even know?” George asked.

Aaron shrugged. “I never thought to ask.”

Thomas lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down. “How are you even a functioning human being?” he asked.

“Questions for later,” George said. “For now, Bellamy is Mr. Grin and we have to convince everyone else.”

Aaron looked over the images on the walls, eyes following the red strings with purpose rather than creating images in the mess. “We know that Alexander is the connection,” he said. “But it’s not an obvious one. We can push these off as random - maybe play the vigilante card and say the others are for practice.”

“Monroe would definitely help with that one, wouldn’t he?” Thomas asked. “Or say it was some odd sort of feud.”

“Vigilante card will be more easily accepted than a feud.” George stepped in-between Aaron and Thomas. “Monroe was a serial killer, Eacker had the prostitutes, and Sands is connected to a murder. We could connect that one.” George turned to Aaron and asked, “any others? I feel you know the victims better than I do.”

Aaron nodded. “Seabury was a barista, but he tended to argue politics with customers while taking their order, you could probably play that up as disrupting the peace. Lee was a lawyer. Everyone hates lawyers, that one’s not difficult.”

“Aaron,” Thomas said. “We’re all lawyers.”

“And I’m a serial killer,” he responded. “What’s your point?”

“Continue,” George said.

Aaron walked to the other side of the room where the older kills were. “The further we go back the less proper explanation we need to have. We can say he was figuring things out, seeing what worked. We can make up petty reasons for these.” Aaron’s finger landed on Hugh Mulligan’s face. “Cheating on a test, asking out a crush, not delivering on weed or alcohol. It’s college - we can spin a tale that Bells started after getting into a drunken fight.”

“Huh,” Thomas said. “That could work. Everyone has skeletons in their closet.” Thomas circled Aaron’s office, and landed in front of the picture of Kitty Livingston. “What about her?”

“Kitty?” Aaron asked, smirking. “She’s easy. Serial cheater, gold digger, whatever you want to call it.”

“What did Kitty ever do to Alexander?” George asked.

Aaron shrugged. “She broke his heart. We all know Alexander is way too romantic for his own good.”

Thomas snorted. And so they went, slowly making their way through Aaron’s victims and making up the best case possible for a ‘vigilante’ explanation. Hours that  _ should  _ have been theoretically spent putting together the case against Aaron himself, they found small loopholes and possible reasons Bells might have gone after each person.

Lafayette came back around lunch, demanding an explanation about John and Aaron stuttered through some lie about how John discovered Aaron’s little hobby and Aaron had to silence him. They filled him in on their plan, and Lafayette jumped into it with enthusiasm. That is until Lafayette caught sight of Hugh Mulligan’s picture on the wall.

“Mulligan…” Lafayette trailed, and Aaron stiffened. Lafayette turned around to look at him with a hard look in his eyes. “Aaron, since you killed John, you wouldn’t have anything to do with dear Hercules and his brother, would you?”

Aaron looked at the opposite wall, unable to meet Lafayette’s gaze. “Well, considering Hugh is already on the wall…” Lafayette sighed, and looked up at young Hugh again. “I mean, back in college I was sloppy so Hercules caught on like John did and Hugh figured out I got Herc, so I kind of had to.”

It’s only  _ partially  _ a lie, Hugh really had done his investigative work and almost caught Aaron in the act. Alexander had almost moved in with Hercules senior year and Aaron couldn’t have had that. Alexander had been so easy to move around when he was killing, and a new roommate could have jeopardized that. Or at least, that’s what Aaron kept telling himself.

Lafayette paused, muttered something to himself in low French, then straightened again. “So, then, when do we arrest this ‘Bells?’”

Aaron looked over at George, who paused in his documentation of ‘why’ Bells ‘did it.’ “Well,” he started, “we likely couldn’t get an arrest warrant just on this theory alone. We’d have to have something that points to Bellamy.”

“Something we don’t have,” Thomas added. Aaron thought for a moment.

“He’s new to this, but he’s been clean,” Aaron said. “Bells hasn’t left any fingerprints or DNA, so unless he slips up then we won’t get any physical evidence.”

“Could we get him to slip up somehow?” Lafayette asked.

“And how would we do that?” Thomas asked. Lafayette shot him a look.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” Lafayette responded.

“Aaron,” George said, “You could. It’s going to need to be you that does it.”

He looked at George and asked, “how do you mean?”

“Talk to him, throw him off-guard.” George huffed out a breath. “Steal evidence for all I care. We just need  _ something  _ that’s irrefutable proof that Bells is Mr. Grin, and you’re the one with the best chance of getting it.”

\--------------

Aaron was alone, and it was with unease that he raised a hand to knock at the door to the apartment he had been living in yesterday.

He could hear Bells on the other side, the shuffling of feet and the slide of the chain lock before the door cracked open. Bells looked through, eyes wide, and said, “Aaron! I knew you’d come back!”

Bells threw open the door and Aaron had to keep himself from visually reacting from the sight before him. Bells didn’t look like the groomed, carefully put together man Aaron had lived with for years. His hair was unwashed and stringy, with purple bags under his eyes. Sure, he was still dressed nicely, but it looked like he hadn’t showered or slept.

“I, uh,” Aaron started, fidgeting under Bells’ bloodshot eyes, “I forgot a few things yesterday I need.”

Bells stiffened, his knuckles turning white around the doorframe. He looked awful for just being alone for one day. “Oh,” Bells said, voice hard. Aaron nodded.

“So, I’m just…” Aaron motioned in the direction of his old bedroom, and Bells slunk out of the way. The moment Aaron was through the threshold, Bells slammed the door hard enough to make Aaron jump. He glanced behind him - George, Thomas and Lafayette were all just a phone call away, just outside the building - but with the door closed it felt like he was trapped.

“I cleaned up your room,” Bells said. “You left it in quite the disarray when you left. I couldn’t stand the thought of you coming back to it all dirty.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said. He hesitated, the planned words he had fleeing his head as he looked Bells - his copycat, James’ killer - in the eyes. Instead of trying to fumble through anything he could recollect, Aaron just headed off in the direction of his bedroom. Best to stall and try to think before confronting him.

Bells followed Aaron just a few steps behind, the man’s gaze on his back making Aaron’s hair stand on end. In all his killing career, Aaron had never felt more in danger than he did right now. Bells just watched, waiting.

Aaron opened the door to his old bedroom, and found it was as Bells had said - his things that had been thrown about last night had been straightened. His furniture had been dusted, the bottles of chemicals in the corner reorganized and even restocked. The only thing that wasn’t in perfect order was his bed. In fact, it looked like it had been slept in and recently.

Aaron glanced over at Bells, whose gaze had zeroed in on the bed as well. “I don’t know how that happened,” Bells said slowly. “I’m sorry, I’ll just…” Bells slipped around Aaron to go make the bed, and Aaron just watched him do it. “I should have been more careful and made sure everything was perfect,” Bells muttered under his breath as he pulled the comforter straight. When he was done, he looked over at Aaron. “See? Better and ready just for you.”

There was an odd hope, a longing buried in Bells’ eyes behind the guarded look. Aaron just hummed, and went over to his bookshelf. He could sense Bells deflate behind him as his eyes scanned the shelves. John’s journal wasn’t where it should be, but for that the reason was obvious.

“You know,” Aaron started, looking over his shoulder at Bells, “there are other ways to get my attention than stealing my victims.”

Almost instantly, Bells brightened. His posture straightened, his eyes lit up and a smile split his face. “You noticed,” Bells said. Aaron nodded, eyes narrowing. “You actually noticed. It worked!”

“You could say that,” Aaron said, turning all the way back around and leaning against the shelf.

“I left that journal so you’d know, you’d know it was me!” Bells said. Aaron nodded.

“It took me a little bit to figure it out, but you certainly have my attention now,” Aaron said, folding his arms across his chest. He had to be impassive, in control.

“Well,” Bells started, drawing himself up, “what do you think?”

“Of?” Aaron asked.

“Me!” Bells exclaimed. “What I’ve done!”

Aaron pursed his lips. “Your technique needs work,” he said. Bells’ smile slipped just a bit, then reaffixed itself.

“Well, obviously it’s not as good as yours, you’ve been doing it for years! You’ve got all sorts of practice,” Bells said. “But you could teach me! Tell me how you do it so well.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed. “And why would I help you? You’ve been stealing all my targets.”

Bells blanched, wringing his hands in front of him. “I didn’t know you wanted the secretary or that one guy’s boyfriends, I’m sorry. I really am, what can I do to make it up to you?” He looked up at Aaron pleadingly, like a small kicked puppy. Aaron almost felt bad. He pretended to think a moment, eyeing the man before him.

“Did you make plans for your next one yet?” He asked. Bells’ eyes lit up again and he nodded emphatically.

“Yes! Yes, I was going to do it in three days,” he said. “If the journal wasn’t enough I was… well I was going to figure something else out. I was thinking maybe your house key? Or! Or maybe a little bell. You know, because you call me ‘Bells…’’ Bells trailed as he saw Aaron’s stern look.

“Both of those would have been stupid moves. The journal was bad enough, but my  _ house key _ ?” Aaron scoffed. “That’s a quick way to get the police at your door.”

“Well, aren’t you a lawyer?” Bells asked. “You could have stepped in and helped me, wouldn’t you have?” Aaron hummed non-committedly.

“Perhaps.” Aaron stood up from the shelf. “Who was it?”

“What?” Bells asked.

“Who were you planning on killing?” He asked. Aaron felt his heart skip a beat as Bells hesitated. The man’s gaze slid around the room.

“Well, see, I…”

“Who is it Bells?”

“Lafayette!” Bells blurted. “You know, Washington’s friend? I mean, after Madison, he’s the next logical choice.”

Aaron’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself to stay outwardly calm. He nodded slowly, as if considering it. “And what did you hope to accomplish by taking Lafayette out?”

“Well, to get your attention, obviously,” Bells said. “I wanted to get you back.”

Aaron started, looking at Bells in confusion. “Get me… back?”

Bells nodded. “I thought, maybe, even if you didn’t figure out what I was doing, you’d think that being around Washington and Jefferson -” Bells said their names like curses, spitting them out towards the ground - “was dangerous and would come back home.”

“You just wanted me to come back here?” Aaron asked, his chest tight. Bells looked up at him like Aaron was missing something important.

“Well, just to start,” Bells said. “I wanted you to come back to me.” Aaron’ brow furrowed. What was he missing? Bells let out an exasperated noise. “You can’t still not know, not after I…” he trailed. Aaron shook his head, he’d take a step back if he wasn’t already with his back practically to the bookshelf. Bells took a deep breath and looked Aaron dead in the eyes.

“Aaron Burr, I’m in love with you,” he said, and Aaron’s heart stopped. Not in the good way, the throat-closing, anxiety-inducing, terrified way.

“What?” Aaron asked, quietly. Bells smiled slightly, and took a step forward.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, breathily. “I’m in love with you!” He said it like he was casting weights from his shoulders each time the words left his mouth. “I am so madly in love with you Aaron!”

Aaron shrunk away from Bells’ approach, but just ended up against the shelf in a single step. Bells just came closer. “Aaron, I’ve been in love with you for so long. You belong with me, not those two men. Do they even know what you do, who you are? I do! I have for years! I’ve scrubbed blood out of your clothes and waited up for you to make sure you got home safe. We are amazing together! You, me and the crime spree of the century! We could be murder boyfriends, take turns killing while the other one watches out. I’m good at it! I know how to research and kill and clean up! What would Washington and Jefferson do? Turn you in?”

Aaron swallowed, words sticking in his throat as Bells got right up into him. Part of him wanted to lash out, to push Bells away and flee the apartment. He already knew what Bells was planning, he could go now. He had what he needed.

“You and I could be the best killers this world has ever seen!” Bell said, chest pressed into Aaron’s. He smiled up at Aaron, pleading. “Can’t you see it? We’d be so  _ good _ .” Bells reached down and threaded his fingers through Aaron’s. “Jonathan and Aaron Burr, the wondrous Mr. Grin, together.”

Bells leaned forward, as if to catch Aaron in a kiss, but Aaron’s body acted almost on impulse. He shoved Bells away sharply, sending the man staggering back and ripping their hands apart. Bells looked up at Aaron in shock, betrayal playing across his face.

“Aaron?” He asked, confusion and shock evident in just the single word. Aaron shook his head.

“No,” Aaron breathed. “No, I… get away from me.”

Bells blinked, shock starting to turn to anger as Aaron lurched away from the shelf and past him. Aaron made it into the hallway before a cold hand wrapped around his wrist. “I said get away!” Aaron snapped, trying to pull his arm away. “Don’t you touch me!”

“What’s  _ wrong  _ with  _ me _ ?!” Bells shouted, the confusion fallen to anger. “Huh? What about me makes you  _ hate  _ me? I’ve done  _ everything  _ for you! What do I have to change to get you to love me?”

Aaron struggled, turning around to grab Bells’ arm in an attempt to yank it off and was just met with an expression of rage. In that one expression, Aaron saw what Bells really was: A desperate, obsessed man. How he never saw in years of friendship, Aaron couldn’t fathom.

And in that moment, Aaron remembered that Bells was as much a killer as he was.

Aaron pressed into Bells’ wrist with his free hand, causing the man to cry out in pain and let go of Aaron. Instantly, Aaron whirled around and ran for the front door. He fumbled for his phone, he yanked open the door and escaped out into the hallway.

He pressed George’s speed dial as he rocketed down the stairs, the sound of Bells calling his name following him distantly.

“Aaron? Is everything -”

“Start the car,” Aaron said, trying to gulp in enough air to talk as he ran down the stairs. “Start the car, we have to go.”

“Are you okay?” George asked insistently. Over the phone, Aaron could hear his car turning over.

“For now,” Aaron glanced over his shoulder, but if Bells was following he was far behind. It felt like an eternity before Aaron burst out onto the street, his lungs burning from the exertion. Lafayette already had the backseat door open, and Aaron practically threw himself inside.

“Go!” He ordered, eyes going back to the front door of his old apartment building. George’s car lurched forward, speeding away before Bells could arrive at the door, if he was going to. Aaron watched the building disappear out of sight, waiting until they turned a corner and he couldn’t see it anymore before finally letting out a breath and settling into his seat.

Instantly, he was met with the concerned faces of Lafayette and Thomas, and he was sure George would be giving him the same look if he wasn’t driving. “What happened?” Lafayette asked. Aaron looked at him, Bell’s words -  _ Lafayette! You know, Washington’s friend _ \- echoing in his head.

“We might have a problem,” Aaron said.

\--------------

The lights were off in the Lafayette apartment, the man having gone off to bed to all outside appearances. Aaron stood in the corner, watching as Bells creeped in, toeing across the wooden floor in an attempt to remain silent.

It was curious to watch. Aaron’s mind kept putting himself in Bells’ role, watching as the man grabbed a knife from his bag, glinting under the single light shining from the kitchen. Bells was quick, to Aaron’s surprise. He had expected Bells to take a while, to linger and take in his surroundings, gather himself before going in for the kill if the opportunity was available.

Bells quickly walked through the living room to the door leading to Lafayette’s room, and with Bells’ back to him, Aaron hit send on the already typed text.

Bells quietly pushed open Lafayette’s door a crack, opening it the rest of the way when no sound or light came through. Everything appeared to be fine, the way it was meant to be.

Aaron told himself he would have noticed the odd shadows, the sense of anticipation that hung in the air. Bells was an amateur, that was all. He wasn’t seeing his potential future play out in front of him. Aaron forced himself to take in a deep breath as Bells crept into Lafayette’s room, knife held out in front of him.

A silent moment passed, and Aaron held the breath in his chest as he waited.

The lights flipped on and he heard George’s familiar voice, “Jonathan Bellamy, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Gilbert Lafayette.”


	15. Eliza Hamilton, Pt. 1

The rapid tapping of Alexander’s fingertips on the tabletop was grating against Aaron’s ears. He took in a deep breath and tried to ignore it, but each clack of manicured fingernail on the hardwood on the table echoed, and his chest tightened with each passing second. He exhaled through his nose and counted to ten, trying to cling onto to what false, outward appearance of calm he could. “Alexander,” he said, voice low, measured and controlled. “I need you to stop.”

Alexander started, knocking his glass of water over. Aaron flinched when ice cubes slid across the table to land in his lap. Alexander grabbed for the napkins, silverware clattering and the sound of paper rustling overshadowing everything else. Alexander wiped it up, but Aaron focused on the cold, wet fabric of his pants. The chill seeped through his skin, the very sensation of  _ wet  _ making his brain riot.

Aaron counted backwards from ten, feeling like every nerve in his body was on fire. The static feeling inside his chest only grew worse as Alexander tried to stutter something out. “Sorry, shit, I -”

“It’s alright,” Aaron gritted out, feeling like he had to tear every word from his throat, forcing every syllable out despite their resistance. “It will dry.”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, it’s just water, but, still. I’m just - god.”

Aaron’s eye twitched as Alexander worried the edge of the tablecloth between his fingers. “I can imagine,” he bit out. “It’s been rather stressful for us all.”

“Exactly!” Alexander said, tone so much sharper than it needed to be. Aaron didn’t wince, but it was close. He took in another deep breath, counting, focusing on the rise of his chest, the feeling of his lungs expanding. Alexander frowned and said, “Lafayette is so important to all of us!”

“Yes,” Aaron said, nodding. “He is. George has been particularly frantic.”

Alexander snorted. “I can imagine,” he said. “And to think it was Bells! Of all people? Like, I can’t say he was ever my favorite person, but to think he was Mr. Grin?!”

Aaron took a sip of his coffee, careful and measured. He set his mug back down on the table and said, “it was a bit of a shock.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now,” Alexander said. His eyes widened. “Oh my god, it’s kind of my fault, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, holy shit. I’m so, so sorry.”

Aaron raised a brow and asked, “what are you sorry for?” Was Alexander sorry for befriending him? For being charming despite how obnoxious he was in every imaginable way?

“I introduced you to Bells!” Alexander said, hands smacking down on the table. The sound of skin on wood registered louder in Aaron’s mind than the words. “It’s my fault! If I hadn’t been so insistent on moving out, you wouldn’t have moved in with Bells, and none of this would’ve happened!”

“It’s hardly your fault that the nice cake decorator you introduced me to ended up being a serial killer,” Aaron said. “That’s not something someone advertises.”

“Bells wouldn’t have met you, he wouldn’t have known Tench or Madison or Lafayette,” Alexander continues, as if Aaron hadn’t spoken. “James wouldn’t be dead and Lafayette wouldn’t have  _ almost  _ died, and -”

“Alexander,” Aaron interrupted. “Absolutely nothing you just said is true.”

“Did you see that  _ scar _ ?” Alexander asked. “Lafayette’s leg is all fucked up because of  _ me _ .”

Aaron’s hands clenched by his sides. “It is not your fault Bells panicked. He uses strangulation, he doesn’t stab people. No one knew he’d attack upon discovery, or that Lafayette would have moved just to catch the blade with his leg.”

“It doesn’t matter what people knew or what they didn’t - it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me! It would be a reason of concern! We wouldn’t be discussing this right now!” Alexander said, eyes wide and frantic. 

“And yet we are,” Aaron said. He paused to take another sip of his coffee - anything to pretend to calm. Drinking coffee was a repetitive motion - the warm, smooth liquid coating his tongue, sliding down his throat when he swallowed. It was something he could focus on, take a moment all for himself. “People influence people, Alexander. A man passed out drunk on a corner might be struggling to breath, and the mismatched pattern of his breaths might inspire a symphony - that doesn’t mean the drunk gets the credit when the composer becomes world reknown. Just because something can be traced back to you doesn’t mean the blame lies at your feet.”

“So you admit it does trace back to me!” Alexander said.

Aaron shook his head. “I never said that.”

“You literally  _ just  _ did,” Alexander protested. “You actually do think it traces back to me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Alexander looked up at him with that familiar defiant fire in his eyes for just a moment before it dimmed. The sight of which caught Aaron off guard, even as Alexander lowered his eyes to the table. “Fine,” Alexander muttered, fingers starting up their hellish tapping again.

The tapping sounded like the pounding of drums in Aaron’s mind. Even as he went to ask Alexander to cut it out again, his voice froze in his throat. Whatever strength he’d found in him to speak earlier fled as Aaron buried his nose in the menu.

\--------------

George King was the kind of lawyer you saw on tv. Not the high profile, experts in their field, respected way, but in the ‘awful daytime tv drama’ way. Everything he did was a production, even down to this preliminary bail hearing. Aaron watched from the prosecution’s bench as King made his argument. 

“Your honor,” King said, speaking in that grandiose tone he took for everything, “my client was obviously baited into capture.”

“That’s ridiculous,” George said. “Jonathan Bellamy was caught by simple luck -”

“Luck that you  _ yourself  _ happened to be in the right room?” King interrupted. “Oh, puh-leese. Your honor, I’ve already submitted my motion to dismiss based on entrapment, and if you take even the barest of glances at the facts, you’ll see my client was arrested on unconstitutional grounds!” King threw his hands out into the air, his deep red suit standing in stark contrast to the light wood of the surrounding courtroom.

“The constitutionality of this case is up for debate in  _ another hearing, _ ” George responded. “This is about bail. The defendant poses a serious threat to the community. The prosecution asks for detainment without bail.”

“Granted,” intoned the judge. “Next.”

\--------------

Aaron shut the door behind him and took of his shoes, setting them into the place next to George’s and Thomas’. He sighed as he looked at the three pairs laid out next to each other - something so simple providing feelings of domesticity and home at first glance. He shook the thought away, knowing that anything he said could be used against him - it was a constant tightrope he stood on, with wind blowing from all directions.

He walked toward the kitchen, intent on grabbing a glass of water. It wasn’t even that he was thirsty, but the routine of the simple action was calming. Aaron was opening the cabinet to reach for his usual glass when he heard Thomas’ voice carry from the living room, “what are we going to do?”

Aaron froze, ears perking up. Thomas and George were good about keeping any disagreements away from him - worked to make sure he was involved only as much as he needed to be. 

“We’re going to do what we’ve been doing,” George replied, voice low. Aaron didn’t think either of them knew he was there. He contemplated clearing his throat - a subtle reminder of his presence - but he pushed the thought away.

“Even after Bells is put away?” Thomas asked. Ah, so they were talking about him. “Continue as if the man we’re still calling our boyfriend isn’t a serial killer who murders people as a form of relaxation?!’

Aaron could picture the furrow between George’s brows, was sure that George was reaching out to place his hands on Thomas’ shoulders, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. “He is our boyfriend,” George said. “And I haven’t thought that far ahead. Yes, the serial killer bit is an obstacle, but one I do believe we’ll be able to overcome. It won’t be easy, but we’ll get it done. For now, we have something else to focus on. Let’s throw ourselves into our work - our very important work - and worry about us later. We’re fine as we are, we don’t need to complicate it until we can’t delay it anymore.”

“You want us to just pretend nothing is wrong until there’s nothing left to worry about?!” Thomas hissed. Thomas wasn’t happy. Thomas hadn’t been happy in a long while. Aaron set his glass down on the counter and shut the cabinet. “Is it really that easy for you?” It was funny how whispers carried. 

“I never said it was easy,” George said. “But, that’s is what I’m saying. Compartmentalization is key.”

Aaron went to the fridge and pressed his glass to the metal tab, watching the water slowly fill the empty space. “I can’t do that,” Thomas said. “Not like you.”

There was a moment of silence until George said, “you’re going to need to learn to. Aaron isn’t our professional priority right now. I know you see good things in him, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place. Focus on those right now, and worry about the rest later.”

“What good isn’t outweighed by the fact he’s a  _ literal serial killer _ George?” Thomas asks, voice almost pleading. “What isn’t marred and twisted by that fact?”

“It’s not twisted, just colored.”

“Colored red in blood,” Thomas snapped back. Aaron’s glass was full now, and he pulled it away from the fridge. He held it close to his chest as he counted to ten. There was a moment of silence, then - “I’m going to bed.”

“We haven’t even had dinner yet,” George replies.

“I don’t care,” Thomas says. A moment later a door shuts deep within George’s apartment. Aaron reaches twenty in his mind before he turned and walked out into the living room. George stood there in the empty space, head in his hands.

“What’s for dinner?” Aaron asked, his voice cutting through the stillness. George jumped, head snapping up to look at Aaron.

“How long have you been home?” He asked.

“I just walked in,” Aaron lied. “Where’s Thomas?”   


“He said he was tired and went to bed. It’ll just be us for dinner,” George said, as if it ‘just being them for dinner’ wasn’t the usual, as if Thomas didn’t always go to bed early.

\--------------

Lafayette’s return to the office was met with smiles and cheers. He walked in hanging onto George’s side, a hand to his chest as he re-told his tale of escaping the terrifying Mr. Grin. Each version was more ridiculous than the last, but not a single complaint was raised. 

Alexander was there at Aaron’s side, radiating nervous energy. He was bouncing in place, ponytail dancing. “Is Lafayette actually okay?” he asked Aaron, muttering.

“Of course he is,” Aaron said. “He’s better than he’s making himself look, I assure you. I saw him dancing yesterday. He just likes making everyone work for him.”

Aaron nodded - too many times for the movement to be natural - and said, “that does sound like Lafayette. He’s great, you know. He doesn’t deserve this. Bells could have killed him.”

“Well, I do believe that was his goal.” Aaron clasped his hands behind his back, fingers twitching. The bulk of the people were surrounding Lafayette, he and Alex were off to the side, unacknowledged by most.

“If Lafayette had died it would have been my fault,” Alexander said.

“We’ve talked about this,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “It’s no more your fault than it is mine.”

Alexander leaned in closer and said, “I mean, if it is Bells, it could be your fault.”

“What do you mean ‘if it is Bells’” Aaron asked.”

“Oh, you know.” Alexander shrugged. “I have a feeling it isn’t Bells.”

Aaron turned to face Alexander. “What kind of feeling?” He narrowed his eyes and asked, “when was the last time you slept more than three hours.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alexander shot back. “What matters is that I have a feeling, and I learned to trust those a long time ago.”

“We can’t arrest someone on a feeling.” Aaron looked back toward Lafayette, beaming at having all the attention focused back on him. “You need evidence,” he said. “Or a credible and logical theory at the very least.”

Alexander bit his lip. “That might be true,” he said. “But I’m still going to trust my gut. It’s not Bellamy. He’s a cake decorator - he wouldn’t butcher his victims like that.” Alexander waved his hands in front of him and said, “I’ve seen your apartment! Bells is totally into that feng shui shit, he would never leave the bodies positions in such a haphazard manner.”

Aaron chuckled. “So he can’t be a serial killer because he plays with frosting and is picky about furniture arrangements?” he asked.

“I mean, he  _ could _ ,” Alexander said. “Just not Mr. Grin.”

“Alexander!” Lafayette called, still draped against George’s side. Alexander offered the fakest smile that Aaron had ever seen him make.

“Laf, how are you?” Alexander asked, feet planted firmly in place.

“Oh, you know, as well as one can be…” Lafayette trailed dramatically, and Aaron tried to shoot him a look that perhaps teasing Alexander isn’t the best idea. Alexander flinched beside him.

“I’m glad you’re back to work,” Alexander said. “Whatever it is you do around here."

“Oh, I am  _ very  _ important. Isn’t that right George?” Lafayette asked, dragging George closer to where Alexander and Aaron stood. Lafayette took a step towards Alexander and instantly Alexander stepped away. “Is everything alright?” Lafayette asked, a look of confusion and hurt flashing across his face.

“Yeah, everything’s great, I just… I just have to pee.” With that, Alexander took off from Aaron’s side, disappearing into the bowels of the office.

\--------------

“Simply because my co-counsel happens to be the DA,” Thomas was saying, “doesn’t automatically imply entrapment! Mr. Washington was simply visiting his good friend and neighbor and happened to choose the right night to do so.”

“What normal person goes to visit their friend at  _ one in the morning  _ and stand by their sleeping bedside in the dark?” King shoots back. Aaron and George stood beside Thomas in the judge’s chambers, arguing against King’s idiotic entrapment claim.

“I was helping him through a nightmare and was just about to leave,” George repeated for the tenth time, still as calm as could be.

“Oh come oooonn!” King whined. Even in close quarters he performed for an absent jury. “Your honor, certainly you see how absurd that story is! My client claims the Lafayette apartment was  _ completely silent  _ before Mr. Washington revealed himself.”

“Entrapment entails that the arresting party intentionally led the suspect into a situation where they broke the law without intending to do so beforehand,” Thomas said. “Mr. Washington had zero contact with the defendant before the events of -”

“Objection,” King interrupted. Thomas sputtered.

“Objection?! This is a closed -”

“Mr. Washington did indeed have previous contact with Mr. Bellamy, specifically the night before the arrest when he helped to move Mr. Burr out of the apartment he shared with my client. May I state that Mr. Jefferson  _ also  _ helped with that move, and all three men are now currently living in the same apartment -”

“May I ask what our private living arrangements have anything to do with this case?” Thomas asked, voice strained. “Besides, of course, giving any of us further reason to be in Mr. Lafayette’s apartment the night of the arrest?”

“I simply bring it up to highlight the  _ personal  _ connection between the three prosecuting attorneys,” King said. “The fact that Mr. Burr lived with my client for many years, only to move out  _ the night before  _ Mr. Bellamy was arrested, only to then to have a hand in arresting his former roommate is highly suspect, no?”

“It’s either an unfortunate coincidence or part of Mr. Bellamy’s motive for attacking Mr. Lafayette,” Thomas responded. King tutted.

“Or, perhaps, it gives us an alternate theory to the crime.” Thomas narrowed his eyes as King turned to the judge. “Your honor, think about it for a moment. I assert that Mr. Bellamy is not responsible for the many crimes he is accused of, and instead propose an alternate suspect. One who fits the geographic clues pointing to Mr. Bellamy, as well as much of the physical evidence, and who might have a motive for framing my client specifically for his crimes.”

“Does this lead to your claim of entrapment, Mr. King?” The judge asked, looking slightly bored as he drummed his fingers against his desk. “Or am I just listening to your usual theatrics?”

“I propose!” King exclaimed, running over the judge’s question. “I propose that the real perpetrator of these horrendous crimes is none other than the prosecution’s own Mr. Burr.”

It took every ounce of self-control in Aaron’s body not to react, not to even flinch as King threw an accusatory finger in Aaron’s direction. King glared down his arm at Aaron, his gaze hard and determined.

Thomas scoffed. “Are you actually serious?” He asked, laughter in his voice. “Are you seriously proposing that one of your opposition team is the ‘real’ killer? Your honor, that has got to be the most idiotic alternate theory to a case I have ever heard.”

Aaron eyed the disbelieving smirk on Thomas’ face and sent a silent prayer that Thomas was as good of an actor as King was.

“If we assume that Mr. Burr is indeed the actual culprit,” King continued on as if Thomas hadn’t spoken, “then we automatically know the reason to frame my client! Mr. Bellamy discovered Mr. Burr’s awful secret, and Mr. Burr contracted his two accomplices to help him cover it all up.”

“Oh, so Mr. Washington and I are accomplices now?” Thomas asked.

“Mr. Burr goaded Mr. Bellamy into entering Mr. Lafayette’s residence that night, where Mr. Washington was waiting to accuse him of a crime he’d never commit!”

“Then how do you explain the wound Mr. Lafayette sustained?” Thomas asked. “Unless you propose that Mr. Lafayette is also an accomplice in this ‘grand conspiracy?’”

“That is a possibility I had not even considered, thank you Mr. Jefferson,” King said with a short bow. “But it was my thought that Mr. Burr attacked Lafayette and simply staged the crime to appear as if my client had stabbed him. Mr. Lafayette had just woken up after all. That, or the trio simply threatened or coerced Mr. Lafayette into helping them cover up their plot.”

“Your honor,” Thomas sighed. “There is no possible way anything that Mr. King is saying is even remotely true. His ‘entrapment’ claim is reliant on the most convoluted conspiracy theory I’ve ever heard, and even then could barely qualify as entrapment. Even if,  _ if _ , all three of us -” Thomas motioned at Aaron and George - “were all in on this wondrous plot to cover up Mr. Burr’s ‘killing spree,’ there is still no valid entrapment case. If Mr. King is correct in what he proposes - which he most certainly is not - the end of his theory dictates that the defendant did not lay a hand on Mr. Lafayette, meaning that there was no crime he was goaded into. Mr. King has simply presented a ludicrous defense in lieu of actually proving his claims.”

With that, Thomas crossed his arms and stepped back from the judge’s desk. The judge nodded. “Mr. Jefferson is right.”

“But -”

“No ‘but’s Mr. King. Unless you intend to prove entrapment some other way, I look forward to hearing this incredible defence in court.”

\-------------

The three of them walked into George’s apartment, and after the door was shut behind them, Thomas turned to them wearing the most peculiar expression, brows scrunched together and cheeks pinched.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked.

Thomas shook his head and said, “no. No Aaron, I’m not.” A stream of giggles left Thomas’ lips - a sound that otherwise might had Aaron’s chest filling with some sort of light feeling, but now only made him concerned. “King was right. He was right! About all of it!” Thomas’ giggling was full-blown laughter now. “And! I had to pretend that it was the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” A tear ran down Thomas’ cheek. “But it was real! Everything was real!”

George stepped forward and placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and said, “c’mon love, let’s get you to sit down.” George turned to Aaron. “Get him some water.”

When Aaron came back with full glass in hand, Thomas and George were sitting together on the couch, Thomas’ face tucked into George’s neck. He stood in front of them and offered them the glass of water. “Here you go,” he said.”

George took it and handed it to Thomas, who set it on the coffee table. “King has to know, there’s no way he could have pulled that out of his ass,” Thomas said. He had obviously calmed down, gotten over whatever it was. “Bells told him. There’s no other way.”

“Well, King is his lawyer,” Aaron said. “It does make sense that Bells told him.” One more person who knew. One more person who needed to die. His fingers twitched at his sides. He shook his head and ignored the rising ball of tension. He couldn’t - he had made a promise. King was too risky right now anyway. Bells wouldn’t kill his own lawyer, after all.

“I doubt Bellamy would tell King he was the copycat,” George said. “We can always pull that card.”

Thomas raised his hands to his head. “No,” he said. “That’s not the point. You don’t get it, why I’m so bothered.”

Aaron shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

George wrapped an arm around Thomas’ shoulders and asked, “what is it, love?”

“I had to lie,” Thomas said. “I was in the courtroom and the truth was being said and I had to laugh and pretend it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. This is against everything I believe in, do you understand that?” Thomas looked up at Aaron, eyes burning. “And I did it for you, god knows why. You certainly don’t deserve it.”

Aaron nodded, not letting the dagger-like sensation ripping through his chest at the words show. It was better to stay silent, sometimes.

\---------------

**_From: Eliza Hamilton_ **

**_Hey! I haven’t heard from Alexander all evening. I was wondering if you could check up on him? He’s been working late recently, but he normally texts or calls. Thanks!!_ **

Aaron blinked down at his phone. It was late - even for Alexander.

**_To: Eliza Hamilton_ **

**_Of course._ **

He pulled up Alexander’s name, finger hovering over the message button. Aaron had a feeling his texts would go unread. He walked into the living room and hit call, raising the phone to his ear.

There were four rings, and Aaron was just about to hang up when Alexander answered. “Aaron Burr, sir!” Alexander’s voice shouted into his ear, a particular cadence Aaron hadn’t heard in years.

He had planned on just checking up on Alexander, get his attention to be able to reassure Eliza that everything was fine. But everything was not fine when his oldest friend was drunk off his ass on a Tuesday night. Aaron sighed and asked, “where are you?” His words came out in a harsher tone than intended, but so had everything else he’d said these past weeks.

“Work,” Alexander said. “W’else would I be?”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. Aaron ended the call and raised a hand to his face. This was just what he needed, really. 

He was shrugging on his jacket when he heard footsteps. Aaron looked up to find George standing with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Aaron froze, and George asked, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Right. “Alexander,” Aaron said. He needed to act natural. Nothing was wrong. “Eliza texted me, he’s not home yet and he hasn’t called.”

George took a step closer. “So she called you?” he asked. “Why didn’t she try to call him? And that doesn’t explain why you’re leaving. I could handle it just as well as you could, I’m sure.”

Aaron took a step toward the door, and George went with him. There was nothing comforting in George’s posture or tone. Aaron reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, and he winced when he saw George tense at the motion. “You can see for yourself,” he said, offering his phone.

George grabbed it out of his hand, eyebrows raising when he read the text. He handed the phone back to Aaron and looked at him for a moment, gaze searching. Aaron swallowed, wanting nothing more than to know what it was George was looking for. Whatever it was, George must have found it, because George leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll drive you,” George offered. “Knowing Alexander he probably just fell asleep at his desk.”

“Uh,” Aaron started. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” George asked.

“Well,” he said, turning back to the door. George had never known about Alexander’s drinking habits in college, and Alexander had liked it that way. But, Aaron supposed that things changed. “I called him,” he said. “He’s… not sober.”

George’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

“He’s not going to be in a good way, and he’s not going to be happy you’re coming,” Aaron said, looking down to zip up his coat.

George grabbed his wrist and squeezed - too tight to ignore - and said, “Aaron, if you think I’m going to look Thomas in the eye tomorrow and tell him I let you sneak off in the middle of the night, you’re very wrong.”

He sighed. “Very well,” he said. He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, the sooner the better.”

The car ride was tense. Aaron knew that things weren’t perfect, but being unable to go out on his own at night was a harsh reminder. George remained silent, eyes staring straight ahead, though perhaps in concern for Alexander rather than worry that he was escorting Aaron to Mr. Grin’s next victim.

Aaron decided to send Eliza a text, more in an attempt to distract himself than anything.

**_To: Eliza Hamilton_ **

**_I called Alexander. He seemed to be drunk. George is driving me to the office now._ **

The building was dark and empty when they got there, but the trek to Alexander’s office was a familiar one. Aaron looked over his shoulder at George and asked, “are you sure you want to deal with this?”

George nodded, and Aaron pushed the door open, but quickly pulled it shut when a bottle was thrown in his direction. He had forgotten about that.

He pushed the door open again and walked in. “Alexander?” He called softly.

“What,” came the familiar snapback.

“It’s me, Aaron,” he said. The office was dark, like the rest of the building. Moon- and street light filtered in through the window, just enough to see Alexander, head down on his desk, papers scattered across the floor.

“Burr!” Alexander called, tongue slurring the hard r’s. “Sir!”

“I brought George,” Aaron said, stepping further into the office so George could follow. Alexander picked his head up, peering through the darkness at the two of them.

“Waddya do that for, prick?” Alexander asked. Aaron stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

“To help clean you up and get you home,” Aaron said with a sigh. “Eliza’s worried about you.”

“Betsy’s  _ fine _ ,” Alexander said. “I’sss all  _ fine _ .”

“Son -” George started.

“Don't call me son,” Alexander snapped, “you shouldn’t even be here!”

“Come on, you need to go home and rest,” George said, reaching out for the drunken man. Alexander quickly shook his head, hands scrabbling on the desk in front of him.

“I gotta figure this out,” he said. “I gotta find Mr. Grin.”

“We already did,” Aaron said.

“No! B… Ba… Bells ain't it,” Alexander protested. “An’ whoever’s out there is still af’er me.” He looked down at his desk, confusion plastered across his face. “Where’d my papers go?”

Aaron watched Alexander drunkenly fumble through his desk drawers, muttering to himself. If this is what Alexander was like when  _ Bells  _ was the killer, what would he do if he knew the truth? “Alexander, Bells wasn’t after you. No one was.”

“There’s no point in arguing with him now,” George sighed. “He’s not even going to remember this in the morning.” George patted Alexander on the shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sign ups for the [Hamilton Fall Gift Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Hamilton_Gift_Exchange_Fall_2k17/profile) close September 15th, 11:59 PM EST


	16. Eliza Hamilton, Pt. 2

After George and Aaron dropped Alexander off at his home - a worried Eliza thanking them profusely before ushering him inside - George drove them home. The ride had that same tense silence as the one to get Alexander had, but this time Aaron had no one to text to distract himself.

George opened the door to his apartment to the sight of Thomas, awake and pacing the floor in the living room. Thomas must have heard the door open because instantly, his head snapped up and in their direction.

“George!” Thomas breathed, almost as if in relief. “Where’s A -oh.” The moment Thomas’ eyes lit on Aaron his worried expression crumbled to be replaced with that same hardness Aaron had grown accustomed too.

“Oh?” Aaron asked.

“Yes, oh.” Thomas turned back to George, reached a hand toward George’s and squeezed. “Are you okay? What happened? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

George looked over to Aaron. “It was Alex,” Aaron replied. “He was in a bad way and Eliza got a hold of me to figure out what was wrong. George came with me.”

Thomas still wasn’t looking at him. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“We didn’t want to worry you,” George said. “You’re not the closest with Alexander, we didn’t need to wake you up for that.”

“You can’t do that again!” Thomas said, worry showing strong on his face. “I was terrified!”

Aaron stepped closer. “Why?” he asked. “Did you think I lured George out into a dark alley and killed him to scratch an itch or something? Is that what you think of me?”

“Yes!” Thomas bit out.

Oh. Aaron took a step back. “I see,” he said. “I think I’ll just-”

“Aaron-” George said.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” There was a familiar tension building in his chest. He kept walking backward, faster steps now. He raised his hands to his chest. “I’ll go tell Laf we’re having a domestic. I’d offer to leave but I don’t think you’d appreciate that since you can’t even trust me with my own boyfriend’s life, but that’s fine I suppose.”

Thomas said nothing, and George just looked resigned. Aaron reached for the door behind him, and feeling around for the handle, let himself out into the hallway. He had several options. Every fiber in him was urging him to turn and run down the stairs, go far, far away until he found some willing victim. He took in a deep breath and counted to ten, exhaled and counted again. He needed Thomas to trust him. Maybe Lafayette was right, it was all a matter of trust.

He walked down the hall and knocked on the door, three distinct knocks. Aaron didn’t have to wait long before the door swung open to reveal Lafayette, sleepily blinking at him in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

“Aaron?” Lafayette asked, still obviously trying to piece together what Aaron might be doing at his doorstep at such an early hour.

“We’re having another domestic,” Aaron said. Lafayette let out a sigh.

“Alright, I’ll bring the wine this time. Come in for a minute.” Lafayette stepped away from the door, favoring his uninjured leg ever so slightly. Enough for Aaron to notice as Lafayette walked into his opulent kitchen. Aaron swung the door shut behind him. Lafayette leaned over to pull a bottle of wine from a cooler and when he stood, gave Aaron a look of concern.

“Aaron, what is the matter?”

Aaron started. “I’m fine,” he said. Lafayette’s brows furrowed.

“You’re shaking,” Lafayette pointed out. Aaron looked down at his hands, suddenly aware of the small tremors wracking his body.

“Huh, I guess so.”

“Was it something Thomas said?” Lafayette asked, and darn him for cutting right to the quick of things.

“It’s nothing,” Aaron muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if hiding them now could do anything. Lafayette put the bottle down on his kitchen counter and crossed the room to stand before Aaron.

“Aaron, you’re shaking like a leaf in a storm and look like someone slapped you, what is the matter?”

Aaron looked at the ground, unable to meet Lafayette’s eyes as he admitted: “Thomas thought I killed George.”

“Did you?” Lafayette asked.

“No! How could you even-”

“Shhhh,” Lafayette hushed him mid-sentence. “It’s a valid question and don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”

Aaron shook his head. “I could never kill George.”

Lafayette’s hands went to his arms and squeezed, trying to ground him. “Okay, okay,” Lafayette said. “So Thomas thought you killed George, but you didn’t! It’s all fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Aaron shot back. “Thomas was seriously convinced I had killed George! He doesn’t trust me!”

Lafayette nodded. “So it all goes back to trust - this we can figure out.” He picked up the wine again and gestured toward the door. “Come along.”

“I don’t think this is something we can just talk out,” Aaron said, trying to push down the overwhelming feelings.

“Communication is key to any successful relationship,” Lafayette said. “Even more so in your case. Come on.”

Aaron shook his head and dug his heels in, resisting Lafayette’s attempts to push him through the door. “No,” he said. “No, absolutely not. I told Thomas I was leaving. He doesn’t want me there! No one who thinks that a plausible end to their relationship is murder would want the supposedly plausible murder in their home. He hates me!”

Lafayette’s grip around his arm tightened. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“You didn’t see him!” Aaron said.

“I don’t need to,” Lafayette replied. “If he hated you you’d be in jail, and George would go along with it. He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d let it happen if Thomas was really that determined.”

Aaron reached out and grabbed the edge of a table. “No,” he said again. “I’m not going back in there right now. I don’t want to hear them discuss me like I’m some monster!”

Lafayette sighed. “They don’t think you’re a monster.”

“I don’t think you entirely understand the situation.”

“Aaron,” Lafayette said, putting more strength into tugging him. “As some who had a literal knife in my leg not that long ago, I do think I understand the situation.”

“I suppose,” Aaron said, his grip around the table loosening as acceptance sank in. Lafayette took the opportunity to pull, and he stumbled through the doorway.

He let Lafayette guide him back down the hall. “Come along,” Lafayette said. “I’m sure Thomas and George will be very happy to see you’re safe and in the company of a trusted friend.”

“Laf-”

“No,” Lafayette said. “Save it for your dear Thomas.”

Lafayette raised a hand to knock on the door to George’s apartment, and the door was opened almost instantly, George’s worried face meeting them. “Gilbert! Aaron!”

“Hello George!” Lafayette said, smiling much too wide for the time of night. “I brought wine!”

“Of course you did,” George sighed, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Lafayette lead Aaron into the living room, one hand still wrapped around Aaron’s arm and the other hand clutching the bottle of wine. Thomas was sitting on the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin.

Once again, the moment they made eye contact, Thomas just gave Aaron a look of anger and disdain. Lafayette pushed Aaron onto the couch next to Thomas and Thomas scooted as far into the arm of the couch as possible.

Lafayette pursed his lips but just turned to George, who had emerged from the kitchen with wine glasses. “So,” he began, “since you three apparently require my services as a relationship counselor again, this time I hope we can be comfortable on couches and armchairs instead of kitchen chairs.”

With a pointed look at George, Lafayette chose the single arm chair, scooting it slightly so as to face the couch. George took his spot on the other side of Aaron, not far away, but not too close either. With Thomas as far away as physically possible - while staying on the couch - and George’s stiff posture, it felt like there was an ocean between Aaron and his boyfriends.

“So, Thomas, what made you conclude that Aaron here had… done away with George as you might say?”

\--------------

“Mr. Lafayette,” George began, standing before the witness’ bench. It was day two of the actual trial, the first day having been taken up mostly by King’s opening statement, followed by the beginning of Lafayette’s testimony.

“To pick up from where we left off yesterday, could you please describe what you saw when you woke up the morning of your assault?”

Lafayette nodded, cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone. “Well, I was awoken by a noise in my bedroom, and then you - um, Mr. Washington -” the court stenographer nodded her appreciation, “flicked the lights on and there was Mr. Bellamy, standing over my bedside with a knife in his hand.”

“And what happened next?” George asked.

“I suppose he was startled -”

“Objection!” King called from the witness bench. “Witness is making a conjecture on something he cannot know.”

“Sustained,” the judge intoned, already visibly annoyed by King’s very voice. “Strike from the record, Mr. Lafayette, start again.”

Lafayette nodded again. “Well, the moment the lights went on and Geor - Mr. Washington said something I immediately attempted to move out of harm’s way, but Mr. Bellamy swung and managed to catch my leg with his blade.”

“Could you describe the injuries you sustained?”

“Objection, witness is not a medical expert,” King intoned. George glanced at King, and then up at the judge.

“I believe Mr. Lafayette can describe his own injuries.”

“Overruled. Mr. Lafayette?” The judge looked down at Lafayette.

“A single, large cut extending 5 inches down my right leg, fairly deep with minor arterial damage.” Lafayette rattled off the pre-memorized list.

“Any permanent damage?”

“Some pain on rainy days,” Lafayette said. George nodded, then looked up at the judge.

“I rest,” he said. The judge nodded, then reluctantly looked over at King.

“Defense?” He asked, already sounding as if he regretted every life decision he’d made up to that point. King was already standing and bounding out from behind the bench. Bells sat there, dressed in a suit, and Aaron saw he kept sneaking glances over but Aaron refused to acknowledge him.

“Mr Lafayette!” King said, sounding almost jovial. Lafayette managed to smile at him. “How are you doing today?”

“Quite fine, thank you,” Lafayette said.

“Leg not bothering you too much, I hope?”

“It’s not raining today,” Lafayette pointed out, earning a small chuckle from one of the jurors. King just smiled.

“Good, I’m glad.” He paused for a moment, looking down at a notecard in his hand. “So, Mr. Lafayette, is it a normal occurrence for your boss to be in your apartment at 3 in the morning?”

Lafayette didn’t flinch. This was a line of questioning they’d prepared him for. “Mr. Washington is my neighbor and a very good friend of mine,” Lafayette said.

“That did not answer my question,” King said. Lafayette pursed his lips.

“It’s not  _ common _ , but it happens enough,” Lafayette said. King nodded.

“So, your boss is in your apartment at early hours of the morning ‘often enough.’ Why?”

“I occasionally suffer from night terrors that George can hear from his apartment and he comes to help me,” Lafayette said. Aaron felt a little bit of the anxiety in his chest loosen. Lafayette was following the story perfectly so far.

King just nodded again. “Night terrors, and… perhaps something a bit… more  _ inappropriate  _ for a boss-employee relationship.”

“Objection!” George called. Aaron felt his throat tighten. This was  _ not  _ part of any strategy they thought King would use. “Immaterial.”

“It relates to the alternate theory regarding Mr. Burr I outlined in my opening statement,” King said. The judge wavered a moment, then sighed.

“Overruled,” he said. George’ eyes flared, but he simply marked down the ruling in a notebook. King turned back to Lafayette.

“So, was there any such contact between you and Mr. Washington?”

“No,” Lafayette said, seemingly calm.

“May I remind you that you are under oath?”

“And my answer stays ‘no.’” Lafayette’s eyes glittered, but the rest of his body stayed relaxed. King hummed.

“But don’t you wish that were the case?” King asked. Lafayette’s eyes widened, and George stood suddenly, chair scraping the floor.

“Objection!”

“I simply wish to prove Mr. Lafayette has an emotional stake in Mr. Washington’s well being!” King exclaimed. The judge looked between the two lawyers, then sighed.

“You’re on thin ice Mr. King,” he said. “But continue.” King smirked as George silently fumed.

“Do you or do you not harbor romantic leanings towards Mr. Washington?” King asked, turning back to Lafayette. “And once more may I remind you that you are under oath?”

Lafayette hesitated, looking past King and toward the prosecution’s bench. Then, dropping his eyes, he spoke quietly enough that the microphone didn’t pick it up.

“Repeat what you said, no one heard it,” King said, victory already in his voice. Lafayette glanced up at him, anger splayed across his face.

“Yes,” Lafayette hissed. Aaron felt George tense beside him as King’s smile grew wider.

“And that is why you currently rent the apartment next to Mr. Washington’s, in an attempt to be closer to him.”

“Yes.”

“And since your little  _ secret admiree  _ happens to have access to your apartment  _ and  _ helps you with these ‘night terrors’ of yours, you would then have a deep emotional connection with Mr. Washington, yes?”

“Yes.” Each affirmative answer made Aaron flinch and squirm in his seat. Lafayette didn’t seem to be doing much better, the shame and anger playing across his features was painful to watch.

“Would you say you feel  _ indebted  _ to Mr. Washington for helping you out and for letting you have a job?”

“Partially,” Lafayette said. King just hummed and nodded.

“Wonderful, thank you Mr. Lafayette.” With that, King turned and flounced his way back to the defense bench and sat down with a flourish. A moment passed, silence reigning in the court until the judge cleared his throat.

“Would the prosecution like to cross-examine the witness?” The judge asked. George started, something dancing in his eyes before he cleared his throat and looked down at the papers gathered in front of him.

“I -”

“Yes,” Thomas broke in, standing before George got the chance too. Thomas skirted around the bench and approached Lafayette. The questions Thomas asked were lost to Aaron as he looked at George.

George kept his eyes glued to the table, shuffling papers around aimlessly. Aaron gently reached out and touched George on the arm, causing the man to jump. A silent moment of conversation passed between them, Aaron doing his best to make sure George was alright.

“You are dismissed,” The judge intoned, and Lafayette rocketed from the witness stand. He crossed the courtroom in a hurry, hesitating only once by the prosecution bench.

In a voice loud enough - so as to make sure no one could misinterpret what he said - Lafayette spoke. “I’m sorry,” is all he said before fleeing out the back door of the courtroom.

\--------------

For an office fueled by gossip, everyone seemed to collectively decide to ignore Lafayette’s little confession and just not talk about it. It helped, Aaron supposed, that George had also refused to speak about it, going so far as to ignore Lafayette in the hallways and to cancel their plans via an email from Maria Reynolds.

Which had left Thomas and Aaron in an awkward middle ground. Thomas because he was still friends with Lafayette, and Aaron because you don’t just abandon someone that knows you’re a serial killer. Not exactly the best survival strategy.

The next few days in court passed fairly uneventfully - as uneventfully as anything involving George King could be - and they found themselves stuck in the office on an recess day. Aaron came back to the office to find the end-of-trial paperwork for the Sands case on his desk. He hadn’t technically finished the case as the prosecuting attorney, but he still worked on it for quite a while and his signature was needed for a few things.

Just underneath his newly-affixed signature was the blank spaces for the defense attorney - Alexander. These forms hadn’t made their way to him yet. Aaron  _ could  _ resubmit them to the court and let them take days to get them to Alexander, or he could just walk them down to Alexander’s office and drop them off there himself.

It wasn’t a bad walk, and Aaron could stand to stretch his legs. So he grabbed his coat, stuffed the forms into a file, and marched down the two flights of stairs and through the winding hallways to Alexander’s private defense firm. He could smell the booze through the engraved door and he stifled a sigh. He’d have to tell Eliza about that - she’d banned alcohol from their apartment after Alexander had blacked out and lit their kitchen on fire trying to make her an apology omelette.

He knocked on the door - bracing himself for a drunken Alexander to answer, and was shocked by the rather enthusiastic “Yes!” he heard from the other side of the door.

Aaron pushed the door open and was immediately hit with a simultaneous wave of regret and disgust. It was Alexander, caught in the same position Aaron had walked in on too many times to count while they had lived together, and not one he had ever planned on seeing again. He stood there for a moment, frozen, trying his best to process what he was seeing and command his body to move. In the time it took for him to regain control of his feet, Alexander’s moans got louder, and neither Alexander nor Maria noticed him.

He shut the door and pressed his forehead against it, taking in a deep breath as everything registered. It was easy to tune out the now obvious noise, falling into the old habits.

Alexander was cheating on Eliza. Alexander had somehow spiralled so far that he was cheating on his wife, whom he loved, with his quasi-father’s secretary. Alexander was getting screwed by Aaron’s boyfriend’s secretary. Aaron banged his forehead against the wood of the door, Alexander’s engraved name no doubt leaving some sort of mark on his skin, and raised his hand to knock exactly once - a quick rap of his knuckles.

There was no response. He did it again, more forceful this time.

The noises stopped - Aaron wouldn’t be surprised if Maria had covered Alexander’s mouth with her hand - and Alexander’s voice hesitantly called out, “what is it? I’m working on something at the moment.”

Aaron snorted. “I know exactly what you’re ‘working on’, Alexander. I came to drop off some files that you still need to go over.”

There was the sound of a muffled crash - something being pushed to the floor in a hurry as Alexander struggled to make himself look semi-presentable, no doubt - and Alexander opened the door. His face was flushed, hair a mess, eyes glassy, and shirt unbuttoned. Alexander cleared his throat and said, “you can’t tell Eliza about this.”

Aaron sighed. “We’ll see,” he said, shoving the file forward into Alexander’s chest. “Good bye, Alexander, and be grateful that it was me and not Angelica.” Alexander blanched. Angelica had taken Madison’s place, and Aaron had noticed how Alexander skirted around her, never staying in the same room for long.

“You wouldn’t,” Alexander said.

Aaron stepped away. “If I thought it was best for you,” he said. “I very much would.”

Aaron was down the hall before Alexander could respond, trying desperately to try and flush the image of Alexander bent over his own desk out of his mind. He heard Alexander curse quietly to himself, then the office door shut.

The first person Aaron saw upon returning to the office was George, silently staring at the closed door to Lafayette’s office. Aaron glanced at it, cleared his throat, and said: “Do you, by any chance, know where Maria is right now?”

“I sent her on a long lunch,” George said, focus still on Lafayette’s door. “Do you need her for anything?”

“No, just curious,” Aaron replied, and silently walked back to his office.

How much more messed up could this all get?


	17. Eliza Hamilton, Pt. 3

It took a week before Thomas finally snapped. They had just gotten home from court, George’s gaze lingering a bit too long on Lafayette’s front door before Thomas yanked him inside, slammed the door, and spun on him.

“Okay, this is something that needs to be talked about,” Thomas announced. “And since Lafayette’s not going to be the mediator, and Aaron’s emotionally constipated, I guess it’s up to me!”

Both Aaron and George looked at him, more than a bit confused. “Thomas,” George began, “what are you -”

“Do you like Lafayette or not?” Thomas asked. George started, drawing back slightly.

“I… I like him well enough.”

Thomas let out a noise of exasperation. “I mean, do you romantically like him? Are you attracted to him?”

George’s eyes widened. “No! I’m not… that’s not… No. I’m not attracted to him.” Thomas took a breath, obviously slightly relieved, but then stopped. A look of dark realization crossed his face and he took a step back.

“So… are you not attracted to me then?” He asked. George, looking ever more confused by this turn of events, took a hesitant step forward.

“What does my lack of attraction to Gil have anything to do with -”

Thomas reached back and scooped his hair together into a single ponytail with one hand, creating a similar style to Lafayette’s signature poof. With his other hand, Thomas silently pointed at his own face and suddenly Aaron saw it.

“Oh…” Aaron let out a low breath. “Oh crap.”

“Oh crap is right,” Thomas snapped, glaring over at George. “God - fuck. Okay. Let’s… let’s…” Thomas dropped his hair and paused for a second. Aaron shot a look at George who looked just as startled as Aaron felt. Then Thomas’ hands clenched by his sides and he looked up with indignant anger in his eyes.

“Alright then. Let’s recap. One of you is a serial killer who has admitted to considering killing me, and the other isn’t attracted to me! This is… this is just great! Wonderful!”

George fidgeted, glancing over at Aaron. “Thomas, love -”

“No! No, what am I even doing here?! What am I doing here, with the two of you, apparently wasting my time?”

“Thomas, I’m not -”

“No! It’s fine! I’ll just pack my shit and leave then! There’s no point to me being here!”

“I’m not attracted to you -”

“I mean, I’ll probably have to sleep on the street, but that’s fine! You know, because I gave up my apartment, my best friend is dead, Lafayette’s not an option, and hell knows I’m not going to Hamilton.”

“Thomas I’m not attracted to anyone!” George finally snapped. “Not you, not Aaron, certainly not Lafayette, no one.”

Thomas stuttered over his next words, looking at George with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. Aaron too found himself looking at his boyfriend, but not out of shock, instead this deep sense of relief.

“I’m sorry?” Thomas asked. George let out a long sigh.

“I don’t...want to have sex with people. I’m not...attracted to people like that.” He took a step forward and reached for Thomas’ hand. “I still want you here, Thomas. It’s not you. It’s just… how I’ve always been.” George looked away to the side, and Thomas just blinked at him. 

Aaron cleared his throat to break the silence. “That’s what it’s like for me too,” he said. “It’s part of the reason Bells was so...shocked...about everything.”

“So,” Thomas started. “It’s not me?”

George shook his head and pressed a kiss to Thomas’ forehead. “Absolutely not,” he said. Thomas melted into the touch, resting his head on George’s shoulder for a moment.

“I was wondering how the sex was going to work,” Thomas muttered, laughter in his voice. “But this is okay.”

The look on George’s face - the pure, unadulterated relief - sent waves of relief through Aaron’s own body. Then Thomas picked his head up and looked at Aaron.

“I was completely sure you got off on the murder thing,” Thomas said. “Figured that was why you never made a move.”

The relief instantly disappeared to be replaced with disgust. “You thought I… fondled the bodies?” Aaron asked.

“Well obviously not!” Thomas said, standing up straighter. “There was no physical evidence of that but I figured… you know… showers and… alone time.”

“Thomas, love,” George broke in, “Maybe it’s best you drop the subject.”

Thomas nodded, took a breath, and looked up at George. “Yeah, sure. This isn’t even what needs to be talked about.” George’s expression began to fall as Thomas continued: “We need to figure out this Lafayette thing.”

“Or we could just not talk about it?” George offered. “Let it go and not bring it up ever?”

Thomas frowned. “George.”

“Thomas.”

Thomas let out a sigh. “Lafayette knows about…” he made a hand motion in Aaron’s direction. “The situation. Beyond that, he’s my friend and yours.” George’s jaw set in a hard line. “And he got us together. If he was really all that hung up on you he wouldn’t have done anything, would he have?” 

George looked away from Thomas and inhaled sharply. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I should talk to him. But...what if he doesn’t want to talk to me? I haven’t spoken to him in days! He probably thinks I hate him!”

Thomas shook his head and reached a hand up to make George look at him. “Lafayette just told everyone he’s in love with you, he’s not going to hate you. If anything, he’s scared you hate him.”

“I could never,” George said. “How could he think that?”

Thomas placed his hands on George’s shoulders and pushed back slightly. “Go talk to Lafayette,” Thomas said. “He’s literally next door. Just go, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”

George didn’t budge. Aaron joined Thomas in pushing George out of the apartment, slamming the door shut when they finally got him over the threshold.

Aaron turned to Thomas and said, “that should work, right?”

“Hopefully.”

\--------------

It was a weight off Aaron’s shoulders when Lafayette joined them the next morning, the worry and guilt he felt over potentially ruining one of George’s close friendships abated. Though it was a court day, Lafayette followed them into the legal chamber to sit in the audience as Aaron made quick work of King’s last witness.

The man on the stand was a psychologist, a private doctor hired by King to dispute the criminal psychologist the court had ordered Bells see for a mental evaluation. The guy was sham, barely able to stand up to even the most cursory cross-examination. By the time Aaron sat down the man was beyond flustered, red in the face and angry at Aaron’s excellent takedown of his ‘findings.’

“Defense?’ The judge asked, exhaustion in his tone. They’d been at this for days, and a King re-examination would stretch this even longer.

“The defense passes,” King says. Everyone in the court starts at once, looking over at King in shock. King looks up at the judge, an innocent seeming expression on his face. Aaron leans over to George as the courtroom starts to mutter.

“What’s he planning?” Aaron asked. George just shook his head.

“Silence!” The judge called, looking down at King with narrowed eyes. “Would you like to call another witness?” The question is a formality, they’re not expecting King to call anyone else, the trial is over -

“The defense called Alexander Hamilton to the stand!” King announced. Aaron’s heart stopped and he glanced between Thomas and George. He even glanced back to catch Lafayette’s confused expression as Alexander - harried and dressed in a wrinkled suit - stood from the back of the room and half stumbled his way to the stand.

Alexander gave his oath as King flipped a few pages of a notebook, standing from his seat. George’s eyes were glued to the small man now fidgeting in his seat. “Alexander, what are you doing?” George breathed, hands gripping the edge of the table.

Alexander didn’t look at them, shakily adjusting his ponytail. His hair shined with grease in the courtroom lights. It looked like he had slept in that suit. Aaron watched as he glanced at Bells, then the jury, and then at King as the opposing lawyer approached.

“Would you please state your name and occupation for the court?” King asked. Alexander nodded and leaned into the microphone.

“Alexander Hamilton, private defense attorney.” Despite his haggard appearance, Alexander’s voice was clear, strong and devoid of any slurring to indicate a drink. Somehow the man had been able to keep sober for this.

“And what is your relationship to the defendant?”

Alexander looked over at Bells. “We met a couple of times during college, and I introduced him to Aaron.”

“Who?”

“Aaron Burr,” Alexander clarified, still not looking over at Aaron. King nodded.

“And your relationship to him…?”

“We were roommates through college,” Alexander said. “We’re old friends.” The familiar warmth spread in Aaron’s gut at the words, but it wasn’t enough to fight off the growing anxiety. Just watching the other man speak was a trial all on it’s own.

“Mr. Hamilton, you have your own theory as to who committed this string of murders, correct?”

“Yes,” Alexander says.

“Objection, leading the witness!” Thomas called. King waved his hand in acceptance.

“Mr. Hamilton, why don’t you believe my client is responsible for the murders he stands accused of today?”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Alexander said. Thomas let out a groan.

“Oh god,” he muttered.

“And why not?” King asked.

“Because there’s no reason Bellamy would want to target me.”

Silence fell on the court, but King’s smile stayed affixed in place. “Why do you believe the true culprit to have been, quote, ‘targeting you?’”

Alexander shifted in his seat. “Well, Mr. Grin has obviously centered his crime spree around me. His earliest crime - John Laurens - was my best friend in college.”

“That is true, but are there are other connections between you and the other victims?” King asked. Aaron felt his stomach twist as Alexander nodded.

“Kitty was an ex-girlfriend of mine, Madison was an ex-friend, Mr. Eaker harassed me online…” Alexander continued to list names, rattling off victims and how he knew them all. Aaron forced himself not to flinch, not to wince at every name. “...Seabury argued with me politically, I helped get Mr. Lee fired, and Monroe kept hogging the books at the library that I wanted.”

King’s eyebrows rose as he glanced over at the jury. “That’s quite a list. And you believe Mr. Bellamy wouldn’t have targeted you because…?”

“Because he barely knows who I am!” Alexander exclaimed.

“What makes you say that?”

“I went and visited him in jail,” Alexander explained. Aaron’s eyes widened as Alexander wrung his hands. “And I asked him why, but he didn’t even really recognize me until I reminded him who I was!”

“I would like to submit into court evidence 148.” King pulled a sheet of paper from a file on his table. “Prison records of Mr. Hamilton’s visit to Mr. Bellamy.”

“Admitted,” the judge said. King threw the page onto the judge’s bench, and then turned back to Alexander.

“I’m finished,” King said. He strutted back to his table and shot a look at Aaron. “Your turn.”

“Prosecution?” The judge asked. Aaron nodded and slowly stood. Thomas grabbed for his arm but Aaron simply pulled away. He took a deep breath and slowly walked out into the empty space before the witness stand.

“Alexander -” Aaron caught himself. “Mr. Hamilton, why did you choose to bring this… idea of yours to Mr. King and not the authorities?”

“I tried,” Alexander said. “None of you would listen to me.” He still didn’t look directly up at Aaron. Aaron nodded, using a small pause to stall for time.

“Do you have any possible other ideas as to who actually killed all those people, if Mr. Bellamy actually didn’t do it?”

Alexander hesitated, then shook his head. “I… I don’t. That’s the aggravating part. I can’t figure that out.”

Aaron cocked an eyebrow. “Surely, if the ‘true’ culprit was after you, you could pick out at least one name?” Aaron felt like his insides were broiling from the irony.

Alexander’s jaw set. “It’s not that simple. No one I know would do this. It has to be like… a stalker or something. Someone I don’t know.”

“Someone that’s been following you since college?”

“Yes!”

Aaron hummed. He took a few steps away, ready to call the whole thing off, ready to assume the jury thought Alexander simply paranoid, when an idea struck him. Alexander might be steady in his convictions, but his character….

“Mr. Hamilton,” Aaron began, already shoving away any hint of guilt or regret he might have. “Have you ever had any problems with drugs or alcohol?”

He could see the moment Alexander understood what Aaron intended to do in the way his eyes suddenly snapped to Aaron. Aaron refused to look back at Thomas, George or Lafayette. Alexander hesitated.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. “In college I was forced into Campus AA to avoid a suspension.”

“So you’ve dealt with alcohol addiction?” Aaron asked. Alexander’s eyes glittered, anger building there.

“Yes. I’ve been sober for eight years.”

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t had a drink in eight years?”

Alexander’s shoulders hunched forward. “I’ve had a few drinks recently, but it’s nothing compared to what I was like in law school.”

Aaron pursed his lips. “Was it not I and Mr. Washington that picked you up at 3 am from your office because you had drank yourself into a blackout?”

Alexander’s lip quirked, his hands curled into fists against the stand. “I don’t recall.”

“Because you were blackout drunk. That is the definition of a ‘blackout,’ is it not?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Alexander insisted. Aaron glanced at the jury. Juror number four - an older woman - frowned heavily, but there were still a few impassive faces among the twelve people sat there.

“Have you ever experimented with drugs.”

Alexander huffed. “Weed in college, once. I got high with John once and you didn’t let it go for years.”

“This is not about me,” Aaron said. “You are the one on the witness stand. Have you ever engaged in illegal activity.”

“I’m a lawyer, so no,” Alexander growled. Aaron shrugged.

“I’m just running through the questions. Ever been married?”

“Yes.”

“Ever been divorced?”

“No.”

“Ever had an affair?”

Absent Alexander’s quick, angry retorts, the court went dead silent. Alexander’s eyes went wide as he looked up at Aaron. Aaron felt his stomach drop but he didn’t break eye contact. It seemed like a long, impossible minute before Alexander drew in a shaking breath.

“Yes.”

Aaron swore he heard something fall from the prosecution's table. Aaron nodded. “With whom?”

Alexander looked down at his lap. “Maria Reynolds, Mr. Washington’s secretary.”

“For how long?”

“Three months.”

Aaron cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought it had been going on that long. “So, as a self-admitted drunk liar, why should we believe your half-formed theory?”

“Because I’m right,” Alexander said. He tried to sound hard, sound convinced but his voice wavered at the very end. Aaron shot one last disbelieving look at the jury.

“Prosecution rests.”

“Defense passes,” King said immediately, sounding like the air had been punched out of his lungs. Alexander leapt from the witness stand, sparing nothing a second glance before striding over to Aaron, winding up and landing a punch straight to Aaron’s jaw.

Aaron staggered back as the courtroom erupted in yelling and rushing footsteps. Pain blossomed across the bottom of Aaron’s jaw as Alexander found himself tackled to the ground by a bailiff, arms pinned against the cold tile.

Almost instantly, George was at Aaron’s side, watching as his almost-son was pressed into the floor and arrested on the spot. Thomas was soon to follow, coming close and examining the already forming bruise.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Aaron muttered, working his jaw against the pain. People rushed around in front of them, hauling Alexander to his feet - hands cuffed behind his back - and leading him out a side door.

“Call for a recess!” George shouted over the din. The judge nodded, slamming his gavel against his bench.

“One hour!” The judge announced. “One hour and then we get this over with.”

\--------------

Two days later - after the closing arguments - they all found themselves back in that same courtroom, watching the jury foreman hand over the jury’s decision to the judge. Aaron, dark splotch splayed across his face, sat next to George and Thomas. It was a sure thing, it had to be. They had been so airtight with their case. King’s witnesses disproved or discredited, not a single loose thread left untied.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have your honor,” the foreman said.

“In the case of New York versus Jonathan Bellamy, how do you find?”

The foreman took a breath and looked at his collected jury. “We find the defendant not guilty.”

Aaron felt like someone ripped the chair out from under where he sat. Bells’ eyes widened in shock. King leapt to his feet and pulled Bells into a crushing hug. A murmur kicked up from the audience seating as Thomas deflated against his seat.

“Now what?” Thomas asked. Aaron glanced over at the defense table. Bells’ eyes were locked on him, and when King followed his client’s gaze he simply smiled at Aaron.

“We really might have a problem,” Aaron muttered. How had King pulled this off? Their case had been perfect.

George stood suddenly, picking up his briefcase and motioning for Thomas and Aaron to follow him out of court. “Come on,” he growled. “We’re not staying.”

Aaron glanced at Thomas. Technically leaving could be considered contempt, but George was already pushing his way out the back door. Left with no choice but to follow, Aaron shrugged and walked out behind George.

Aaron made it out into the hallway just in time to see another hearing get let out across the hall. Eliza Hamilton, dressed in all black, pushed her way out of the courtroom door with a bedraggled Alexander following behind, head held low. Her face was hard, stern, and when she made eye contact with Aaron, her eyes glittered in a sharp anger that couldn’t be seen elsewhere on her body.

“Thank you for not pressing charges,” she quipped, and then turned from him. Alexander did not look up once, trailing behind his wife.


	18. George King

Aaron took a careful seat down on the sofa, his hands resting lightly on the tops of his thighs. George had yet to say a word since they left the courthouse, and the tension was thick in the air. Every time Aaron went to open his mouth, Thomas would shoot him a glare and he’d promptly close it, waiting for the invisible sign that it was time for them to address the elephant in the room.

“It was perfect,” George finally growled, hands clasped behind his back, pacing back and forth. “The case was airtight, our arguments were strong, there is no possible way a majority of the jury honestly believed Bellamy was innocent. A hung jury, that I could maybe understand. But…” George sighed. Aaron watched George pace so furiously that Aaron thought George would leave a rut in the floor.

“It couldn’t have been the Lafayette thing,” Thomas said slowly, as if weighing every word carefully before speaking it. “I was sure the jury would see through King’s distraction tactic.”

“You couldn’t argue that Bellamy was caught trying to kill Lafayette,” George huffed

“King sure tried,” Thomas countered. “But we discredited the ‘conspiracy theory,’ I’m sure of it.”

George shook his head. “Well, apparently it didn’t work,” he said. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now. We had made it so perfect, I hadn’t thought of the jury declaring Bellamy not guilty. It didn’t even strike me as a possibility.”

“You should always be prepared for the unexpected,” Aaron added in from the side.

He was ignored. “I didn’t think of it either,” Thomas said. “It wasn’t you being shortsighted. King must have bribed them or something. We’ll need to get another trial.”

“We can’t!” George said. “Not unless he goes out and kills someone else!”

Aaron cleared his throat.

He was ignored, again. “Bellamy isn’t stupid enough to murder someone so soon!” Thomas shot back. “And besides, King could just bribe them again! Even if there was one or two people who don’t accept it, that’s not enough to stop the verdict.”

“We don’t know that Bellamy isn’t stupid enough to kill so soon,” George said. “He’s hardly the most intelligent person on this planet. He might even go for you or I next.”

Aaron sighed and stood up, stepping forward to stand between George and Thomas. “You know,” he said. “If you need someone dead, I’m right here.”

He received two wide-eyed looks in response.

“I’m just saying,” Aaron continued. “That I still have this handy-dandy list that fits the pattern of the victims - and I’m sure people will begin to notice that not everything Alexander said was completely false - and I’m more than willing to remedy this situation for you.” He looked to the side. “I’ve been feeling a little...stressed...lately. It wouldn’t hurt.”

A heartbeat of silence passed before Thomas stepped back. “No, no, absolutely not, no,  _ nope,  _ you are not going to kill anyone -”

“Thomas, come on,” Aaron interrupted, finally fed up. “We need someone dead, we need Mr. Grin to do it,  _ I’m  _ kind of Mr. Grin, it wouldn’t be hard -”

“I said no! George, tell Aaron he can’t go out murdering.” Thomas looked around Aaron expectantly. Aaron turned to find George with his lips pressed together in thought. When George didn’t immediately come to Thomas’ defense, Thomas exclaimed: “George!”

“I’m thinking,” was George’s response. Aaron felt his heart thrill at the thought of maybe, just  _ maybe  _ George was going to actually go along with his request. Thomas, wide eyed in shock, stepped back even further.

"Thinking? What is there to  _ think  _ about?! Aaron can’t just go kill somebody!”

“And why not?” Aaron asked, turning back to Thomas. “It’s the easiest solution.”

“ _ Murder  _ is far from the easiest solution to  _ anything _ !”

“Thomas, please,” Aaron said. “Just one, that’s all we need. Just the one.”

“Who were you thinking?” George asked suddenly. Aaron turned, heartbeat picking up. He felt a flicker of a smile but he forced it down. Showing how excited he was probably wouldn’t help.

“I hadn’t gotten that far,” Aaron said. “I can run through the list if you’d like. The bigger contenders would be John Adams, John Beckley, William Howe, Henry -”

“Jesus, stop listing your fucking murder preferences!” Thomas shouted. “This isn’t something we’re doing. This isn’t even something we’re considering!” Underneath Thomas’ outburst, Aaron was still going, running through his list of names, rattling off person after person as he finally let the rolodex in his mind spin again.

“....John Callander, Theodore Sedgewick, DeWitt Clinton, and Nathaniel Macone.”

Aaron let out the rest of his breath as he finished the list. Thomas looked at him in shock. “How many people was that?” Thomas asked. “How many people does Hamilton not like?!”

“The list is ever growing,” Aaron intoned. “I have never run out of options. Ever.”

Thomas paused for a moment. “As awful as that is, I’m honestly not surprised.””

“None of those will work,” George said. “Yes, they’d get the re-trial, but that wouldn’t prevent the same thing from happening again. We’d need someone who would make enough of a wave to turn the entire thing in our favor.”

Thomas looked at George with disappointed resignation on his face and said, “you can’t possibly…”

“King,” Aaron said, more sure of himself. “King’s been on the list for god knows how long.”

“If you had killed him before, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Thomas muttered.

Aaron raised a brow. “Oh,” he said. “So if it’s King it’s okay?”

“I never said that!”

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. “You just did.”

“I’m just stating a fact!” Thomas sputtered. “That doesn’t mean I agree with it!”

“Of course not.” Aaron turned to George, “what do you think?”

George shrugged. “King’s murder would give us the extra edge, but why would Bellamy kill King?”

“Ha!” Thomas exclaimed. “See, killing King is a bad idea.”

“Spin it as Mr. Grin being upset he didn’t get the credit,” Aaron suggested. “Serial killers are prideful. Say he didn’t expect to actually get off, but when he did he turned on the person who was directly responsible.”

“Bellamy chose King to represent him because he was sure that King would make a spectacle out of the trial for attention and then got mad when King actually got him declared innocent,” George muttered, nodding to himself.

“I can’t believe you’re actually talking about this,” Thomas said, but it was his turn to be ignored.

“Do you think you could pull it off?” George asked Aaron. Aaron cocked an eyebrow, and George sighed. “Okay, stupid question.”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be anything different than one of my actual killings,” Aaron said.

“‘It wouldn’t be anything different than one of my actual killings’ he says,” Thomas muttered to the side. “Like that’s a perfectly normal thing to say.”

Still, Thomas was left ignored as George nodded again. “So, what all do you need?”

“He  _ needs  _ to stay home and not kill anyone!” Thomas exclaimed. “George, are you listening to yourself right now?! We can’t have King killed to frame someone else! That’s so many levels of illegal, let alone morally wrong!”

George turned to Thomas, a tired look in his eyes. “Do you possibly have any other ideas, because I’m not seeing one. You and I already condemned ourselves when we didn’t immediately turn Aaron in, we might as well go all the way with this.”

Thomas looked between George and Aaron in disbelief. Aaron frowned as Thomas took another step backwards. “Fine, whatever,” Thomas said. “I can’t stop the two of you. Just know I want nothing to do with…. this.”

With that, Thomas spun and marched into his bedroom, leaving George and Aaron alone. After a moment of silence, George turned around. “So, what do you need?”

\--------------

Strange wasn’t the right word, but Aaron couldn’t think of any other way to describe the feeling of the moment. George’s hand was resting on the steering wheel, face staring straight ahead, fingers tapping a rhythm in time with the pop music playing on the radio.

“So…” Aaron said. “What exactly is your plan for this?”

“What do you mean?” George asked, still staring straight ahead.

“Are you going to wait in the car, or…”

George shrugged. “I figured it’d be easier for King to let us in if we’re both here. He’ll think we’re trying some sort of underhand deal. You can do your...thing...while I’m turning away for a moment or something.”

“You do know that we don’t need King to let us in, right?” Aaron said. “I’m more than capable of getting myself in and out without anyone noticing. You don’t have to be an active accomplice, that can’t be sitting well.”

“I already am.” George’s tapping stopped, his hands tightening around the wheel. The still-playing pop music an abrupt contrast to the seriousness of the topic. “I guess supporting you and your hobbies is the wrong way to look at it, because supporting you isn’t exactly what I’m doing. I’m not even asking you to do something you don’t want to do. It just, it would feel wrong to sit here and have you come back knowing exactly what happened.”

“So you’re going to accompany me and watch me brutally murder George King instead? That’s your plan?” Aaron asked, desperately trying to make George aware of just what it was he was intending to do. “I don’t want you to think of me differently. Knowing something happens and seeing it happens are two completely different things.”

“I know what I’m doing, Aaron.” George’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “I don’t appreciate you trying to talk me out of this decision.”

“It’s not a normal decision!”

“I am perfectly aware of that!”

Before Aaron could reply - could put a voice to the worry building in his chest, the feeling that George would never able to look at him the same way - George reached down and turned the music up. Even Aaron could read that little cue, and he slouched against the window. He watched the city go by, not quite sure if he wanted George to hurry up and get there or slow down.

When George finally pulled into the parking garage under King’s building, Aaron felt like his heart was trying to beat it’s way out of his chest. George found a parking spot, turned off the car and got out before Aaron had the chance to speak.

Although the lot was deserted, Aaron knew the risks involved in speaking out loud, so he silently walked beside George to the apartment elevator. The moment the door shuts, Aaron sighed.

“You are really bad at this,” he said. George looked at him, and Aaron elaborated. “You parked in the victim’s parking garage in a spot with  _ cameras _ . There were three empty spots I saw that would have been fine, but you chose the one that not only  _ one  _ camera could see, but two.”

“Well I’ve never done this before,” George snapped. “You could have said something.”

“You had the music up so loud I thought I was going to go deaf!” Aaron replied. George huffed and kept his eyes glued on the elevator door. George’s fingers tapped against his legs, and when George caught Aaron watching, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You can still go back to the car,” Aaron offered quietly. George shook his head.

“I said I’m coming with you,” George responded. Aaron opened his mouth to speak, but the doors slid open with a chime before he could. In front of them was the single door to King’s penthouse, and George stepped into the hall first. He raised his hand to press the doorbell and Aaron’s brain instantly starting sounding the sirens.

He reached out and grabbed George’s wrist before George could ring the bell, moving fast enough that George was startled at the sudden grip. “Are. You. Stupid?” Aaron asked, hissing through his teeth.

“I was going to ring the doorbell,” George said, confused. Aaron frowned.

“With your bare finger!” He snapped. “Fingerprints George! We’re not here on a social visit in case you forgot.”

Understanding shone in George’s eyes, but he still frowned. “I’m sorry,” he responded. “What would you have me do?”

Aaron sighed. “Sleeve, over your hand, knock with your fist,” Aaron said, demonstrating it. “Do  _ not  _ touch a doorknob or a door or  _ anything  _ while you’re in here.”

“Don’t touch anything, got it,” George said. “Sleeves over my hands.” Aaron nodded, went to respond but then the door swung open.

“Mr. Washington!” King exclaimed. He wore a plush robe and slippers, both embroidered with his initials. “So nice to see you! Oh, and Mr. Grin! Wonderful of you to stop by.”

Aaron sensed rather than saw George tense up beside him, and he stifled a sigh. “Mr. King, we all know that I am no murderer,” Aaron said. King grinned down at him.

“Oh, but I do think all three of us know that you are,” King said. “But do come in, come in. What can I do for the two of you this fine evening?” King swung open the door and motioned them inside.

Aaron let George lead the way into the apartment. He wasn’t carrying his usual bag - his knives were strapped to his arms under his sleeves, gloves tucked into his jacket pocket. It was better that he let George take King’s attention, sneak up behind him when George was commanding his attention.

King shut the door behind them and guided them through the hall into the expansive kitchen - much too large for any one man in New York. “Might I interest either of you in any wine? If I had known you two were coming I would have had my personal chef prepare some hors d'oeuvres, but since this is a surprise visit…”

“Of course,” George said, professional tone. “I do apologize for the poor timing, I just thought it was too urgent to wait much longer. I’m happy we managed to catch you in a rare free moment.”

Aaron tensed, thinking to himself that George’s back would be to them while grabbing the wine. It’d be perfect. Easy. Quick. The strangulation was the clean part - it wouldn’t be too traumatizing for George to see. He’d just have George turn around when he cut the smile.

“I am awfully busy,” King said, stepping to the island that had a wine cooler built in. “But I do enjoy my free time. I would have preferred a warning, but it’s much too late now.”

King’s eyes didn’t leave Aaron’s face once as he reached for the glasses and bottle, the stare unnerving as he removed the cork.

“I hope you two both enjoy red,” King said. “This is one of my favorites.”

“You can never go wrong with a good red,” George said. Aaron nodded his agreement, more disappointed in his lack of opportunity. It was just his luck that King would have a wine cooler right there. Oh well, there will be a thousand chances to get this over and done with.

King poured the wine into three glasses, placing one on the counter before George and Aaron both. “A toast? To the justice system that we’ve all devoted our lives too?” George glanced over at Aaron before carefully sliding his shirtsleeve over his hand and reaching for the stem.

“Oh don’t worry about the glass,” King said. “I’ve got a woman who cleans those things until they sparkle.”

George forced a smile. “Well, in that case…” Aaron saw George’s eye twitch as his bare hand closed around the wine glass, and Aaron had to stifle the riot in his gut. King was already watching him with twinkling eyes and they couldn’t afford to look suspicious.

“Do you mind if I use the restroom?” Aaron asked. “It was quite a long ride over.”

King nodded and pointed to a hallway that extended from the living room. “Down there, second door on your right.”

Aaron nodded his thanks and headed off in the specified direction. He shut himself in the bathroom and let out a breath. If he could just give George a few minutes to catch King’s attention, Aaron could find a way to come around the back and take care of this once and for all. He glanced about the elegant bathroom, taking in a level of luxury Aaron had never known. Every surface gleamed, the mirror was spotless and the hand towels bore that same obnoxious monograph.

When Aaron figured enough time had passed, he silently crept from the bathroom, ready to creep across the living room and into the kitchen only to find George and King had moved to the plush living room. George had been given the seat closest to Aaron while King had positioned himself as to be able to see down the hallway Aaron was coming from.

“Ah! Nice you you to rejoin us!” King said, gaze already zeroed in on Aaron. “I put your glass on the table. Come, have a seat. We were waiting on you.”

Aaron pushed down the mounting frustration and took a seat not far from George, careful not to let his hands touch the fabric. George had done the same, keeping his hands on the wine glass. The darn wine glass. To be fair, it already had George’s prints on it, so to keep touching it wasn’t awful. Something would have to be done about it though.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode?” King asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. George let out a breath.

“We came about the Bellamy trial,” he said. King nodded.

“I assumed,” King said, taking a sip of wine. Aaron settled in his chair, not even thinking about reaching for his own glass of wine. One piece of possible evidence is enough.

“We know you manipulated the jury somehow, likely a bribe,” George said. King’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Our case against Mr. Bellamy was perfect, and we all know Mr. Bellamy is the culprit -”

King shook his head, tisking. “Nuh uh uh,” he said, putting his wine down. “We all know Mr. Burr over here is the real criminal, but continue.”

George pressed his lips in a thin line. “What we came here to discuss was what real stake you have in having Mr. Bellamy found innocent. In the case of a retrial, are you willing to represent Mr. Bellamy again?”

“Of course,” King said with a smile. “But you’ll need substantial evidence. Double Jeopardy and all that.”

George nodded. “If, say, another murder occurred and Bellamy was arrested for that, you would defend him.”

“Is that not what I just said?” King asked.

“I was just clarifying.” George smirked. “Is that not what we do as lawyers?”

King laughed and waved a hand through the empty air. “I suppose it is. Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Why would you defend Bellamy?” George asked. “You said you would, but what’s your reasoning? He doesn’t have the money to pay you off - how he can afford you at all is a mystery. What are you getting out of this?”

“I’m simply doing my civic duty,” King said, smiling. “Out of the kindness of my heart.”

George took a sip of wine and shot Aaron a look. Aaron shrugged.

“Of course,” George said, looking back to King. “It was rude of me to think you had some sort of ulterior motive. I do have some questions though, and I understand if you can’t answer some of them for client confidentiality, but what makes you so confident that Bellamy isn’t the killer?”

King nodded and set his glass down. “Come along, I’ll show you.”

Aaron leaned forward, anticipation growing. King would  _ have _ to turn his back at some point. But the King pointed back down the hallway, motioning for Aaron and George to go first.

There were several closed doors down the hallway, and King pointed toward one that looked the same as the rest, opening to reveal an office.

King flicked the lights on behind them and said, “I spend most of my time at my office rather than here, but I do enjoy having the space to focus on my work.”

The room, like the rest of the penthouse, was ostentatious and elaborately decorated and obviously spent most of its time unused. King stepped around them to the other side of his desk and shuffled through the drawers, looking up too frequently for Aaron to get a chance to move in.

King must have found whatever he was looking for because he hummed and walked back around and leaned against the desk, handing a file to George. “This is why I’d support Bellamy,” he said, looking at Aaron.

George flipped through the pages, realization coming over his face. “You actually aren’t even pressing Bellamy for fees, you’re after the notoriety.”

“What can I say?” King asked, lifting a shoulder into a shrug. “Fame and fortune has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?” He buffed his nails against his robe. “And I already have my fortune.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes and accepted the folder when George handed it over. They’d have to get rid of this too. This is why Aaron preferred breaking in. The papers were from a publisher, detailing an arrangement with a ghost writer that King would be profiting from.

“What happened to attorney-client privilege?” Aaron asked.

King stepped forward, getting uncomfortably close to Aaron. “I told Bellamy I’d split the profits with him, he didn’t seem to care too much.”

“Does he not realize that it means he’d go to jail?!” Aaron asked, voice low. So would he. They’d be together. Exactly as Bellamy wanted. Dang it.

King’s grin widened. “I didn’t want to bring it up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw something move, but he paid it no mind. “You’re letting him make this decisions unknowingly?! You’re supposed to be his defense!”

“And I defended him, didn’t I?” King asked. “And he got off scot-free. As long as no one decides to act out of turn and take another life, we’ll be-”

King was cut off by a strong arm wrapping around his throat and pressing down, cutting of airflow.

“What!?” King gasped out, his fingers struggling against George’s arm. King’s eyes were blown wide in sudden shock and panic. “You’re not-”

George pressed down harder. “I’m not what, King?” George stepped back, knocking King off-balance so that the only thing preventing King from falling to the floor was the vice around his neck. “I’m not the murdering type?”

Aaron swallowed, mind struggling to comprehend what was happening right in front of him. “George,” he said. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” George grunted. “He wasn’t giving you any room to move. I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

Aaron had nothing to say to that, and instead watched as King’s struggles weakened and his body gave one last final twitch.

George let go of King, stepping back and letting the body fall to the floor. George wiped his hands on the sides of his legs and looked at Aaron, face carefully blank. “I’m going to go stand outside while you do…” George made lines across his cheeks.

“Right,” Aaron said, nodding and stepping out of the way to let George by. “Of course. It won’t take long.”

George nodded and left, and Aaron was left alone with King’s body splayed across the floor.

The man wasn’t dead yet. Almost there, but not quite. Aaron could see the faint rise and fall of King’s chest and he knew it would be a matter of moments before King opened his eyes again. That was the thing about strangulation, it took longer than you thought it would.

Aaron knelt over King’s body, using his arm to press down on King’s exposed throat, once against cutting off the air supply. He was more than content to let George stand outside, didn’t want to tell George that he hadn’t even fully killed King.

As much as Aaron loved him, George really wasn’t cut out for the whole murdering thing.

When King finally died, Aaron let out his own breath, trying to conjure up the feeling of calm that usually followed a death. But there was nothing. He was missing the thrill of feeling someone fight and struggle for air beneath his arms. Aaron pressed his lips together. Perhaps the cutting would provide  _ some  _ relief. Any relief would be like heaven.

“Aaron?” George called with a soft knock. “How’s… how’s it going in there?”

“Fine, George,” Aaron called back, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. Goshdarn it did he miss killing alone.

Aaron pulled on his gloves, took a blade out from under his sleeve and gently worked King’s mouth open. He cut into the flesh of King’s cheek, noticing only too late that he’d grabbed the nasty blade, the one he used when he wanted to make a mess. He’d brought it along just in case, but intended on using the cleaner knife for the actual smile.

Oh well. He needed the satisfaction of tearing and sawing into King’s face anyway. Globs of blood welled around the knife as he carved, more of it splattered across the floor and himself. When he was done with the first side, Aaron turned to the other. He was halfway through when the door creaked open.

“Aaron, I -” George started, only to cut off with an odd noise in his throat. Aaron looked up, blade stuck deep in King’s face. George, face drawn and ashen, looked away and swung the door shut. “I just wanted to check on you,” he called. “I’ll leave you to that.”

“I do hope you didn’t touch the doorknob,” Aaron called, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“No, I used my sleeve.”

“Good.” Aaron turned back to King, moving the blade faster. “Go get your wine glass.”

By the time George knocked on the door, Aaron had finished. The gory smile stretched across King’s face and his skin felt warm where blood had splattered upon it. Aaron opened the study door, careful to keep it open just far enough for him to see George, but for George not to see King.

“Can I have the glass?” Aaron asked. George handed it over wordlessly, face stony as he looked down at Aaron. Aaron took it with a nod and shut the door again. Without a second thought, Aaron wound up and threw the glass at the floor as hard as he could, shattering it into small pieces.

Any larger shards of glass that remained Aaron made sure to crush underfoot as he went to pick up the file he’d dropped when George had made his move on King. He picked up the manila folder, dusted off the glittering glass shards, and made sure to trample over the glass one more time on his way to leave the study.

George was leaning against the wall opposite the door, arms crossed over his chest, and looked up when Aaron shut the office door behind him. “So it’s all done?” George asked.

Aaron nodded and handed the folder over. “Yeah, all taken care of.”

“Good. Right. Great.” George started toward the door. “Is there anything else we need to take care of?”

Besides the anxiety still twisting in his chest. “No,” Aaron said. “I think we’ve got everything.”

George sighed. “Well, you are the expert here.”

“You know it.” Aaron opened the door for George and shut it behind them. He raised his hand to George’s shoulder and rested it there as they waited for the elevator to come up. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the car.

Thoughts and words were dancing through his mind - hundreds of questions for George that Aaron knew better than to ask. The pop music wasn’t playing. He’d need to go through the old databases and resources to take care of the videos on the security cameras. He reached over and laced his fingers through George’s hand, squeezing tight. George might not be happy with him, but judging by George squeezing back, the gesture was appreciated.

George parked the car, but neither of them made a move to get out of the car. George pulled his hand away and settles both hands on his legs.

“So,” George said. “You can’t tell Thomas.”

Aaron snorted. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Right.”

“Is that all?” Aaron asked.

George nodded, but muttered to himself, “that’s not all god dammit I’m...that happened.”

Aaron ignored it and got out of the car, careful not to slam the door despite how much he might have wanted to.

There was no way that Thomas would be able to ignore the obvious tension, the shift, but there wasn’t much Aaron could do about that. Thomas wasn’t going to be happy with him anyway, so he guessed it didn’t matter.

Aaron could hear the strains of tv coming through the door as he shoved the key into the lock. He opened the door and held it for George, eyes following the man’s back as he rushed straight to the bathroom. It was hardly a minute before Aaron heard the sound of the shower running.

He sighed and stepped through to the living room, rolling up his sleeves and setting the clean and bloodied knives on the counter.

“Aaron,” Thomas called, voice cracking slightly.

“Mmhmm,” Aaron hummed, not looking up. “What is it?”

“We have a guest.” Thomas said.

Aaron paused for a moment, processing what “a guest” meant. He picked up the clean knife and admired the light reflecting off of it. Maybe the second one would do the trick. He turned around and said, “you could have mentioned that, you know. Let us know you had someone in the house you wanted me to deal with.”

“What?!” Thomas shouted. He stood up and walked toward Aaron. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

Aaron looked toward the couch. It was Angelica, pressed back into the cushions and staring wide-eyes as she took the scene in. “You know,” he said. “I liked her.”

“Aaron!” Thomas’ hands went to his shoulders. “You’re not killing Angelica!”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Aaron whispered back. “Too many people know already!”

“Lafayette knows! What’s one more person, hm?” Thomas asked, fear in his eyes.

“Five people is a little much!” Aaron shot back. “What is she even doing here?”

“I wanted some company while my boyfriends were out  _ murdering _ !” Thomas snapped. “Not exactly the easiest thing to sit home and wait around knowing!”

“You could have gotten Lafayette?” Aaron suggested. Thomas frowned.

“He’s kind of in love with my boyfriend?” Thomas reminded him.

“Well you should have told us she was here so this wouldn’t have to happen.” With that, Aaron shoved Thomas aside, clutching the knife in one hand. Angelica, already off the couch, was looking at him with wide eyes. Her gaze flicked across his body, taking in the blood and the knife in his hand.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. Her eyes darted to where her purse lay on the table. “Oh my god you’re Mr. Grin.” Aaron flinched at the name, grip tightening around his blade. Thomas put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder

“Aaron, no -”

But Angelica moved, darting for her bag and Aaron was not about to let her get to whatever she wanted. He lunged forward, blade at the ready. He managed to get between Angelica and her purse, causing her to quickly jump backwards.

“Aaron stop!” Thomas shouted, but Aaron was in the thick of it now. His heart pounded in his ears as he looked for his opening. He didn’t usually like to stab people to death, but if this is how it went, so be it.

Aaron moved first this time, darting forward. Angelica once again tried to dodge backwards, but her legs hit the couch and suddenly Aaron was on top of her. His hand found her neck, holding her in place as he raised the knife -

“Don’t kill me, kill Alex!” Angelica shouted, throwing her hands up in defense. Aaron froze, the exclamation taking him off guard. In that moment of hesitance, he felt two arms wrap around his middle and pull him off Angelica.

“Aaron, I said stop!” Thomas said, voice right beside Aaron’s ear. Thomas hauled Aaron off into the air. Due to Thomas’ superior height, it left Aaron kicking uselessly in the empty air, struggling to be put down.

“Let go of me!” Aaron snapped.

“Put the knife down!” Thomas replied, holding tighter to Aaron’s middle. With a noise of exasperation, Aaron dropped the knife from his hand. It clattered on the ground and Angelica seized the opportunity to stand and kick it under the couch.

“Happy?” Aaron spat.

“No,” Thomas said. “You tried to kill Angelica.”

“For a  _ reason _ !” Aaron responded.

“What’s wrong with you two?!” Angelica asked. “He just tried to literally kill me and you’re treating this as if it’s no big deal! You’ve known he was Mr. Grin this entire time?! King was right?! Does Washington know?”

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, looking to the side.

Thomas answered, “we can worry about the details later.”

“No!” Angelica exclaimed. “We can’t! Did you not see what just happened?!”

Aaron looked at Angelica, taking in her aggressive stance and obvious anger. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “What did you mean ‘kill Alex instead’?”

Angelica shrugged. “People say weird things when they think they’re literally going to  _ die _ !”

“That’s true,” Aaron said, chuckling. “But, it usually has to do with truth. It’s usually some sort of secret, or a plea for their mother or their God. Not asking the murderer to kill their brother-in-law.”

Aaron heard Thomas sigh. He could see the realization of just how he knew that cross Angelica’s face. She bit her lip and look to the side. “Alex hurt Eliza,” she muttered.

“Yes,” Aaron said. “He did.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live for what he did to her!”

Aaron elbowed Thomas, and he was finally let down onto the floor. He took a step toward Angelica and clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you actually want me to kill Alexander?”

Angelica was silent.

“Well?” Aaron asked, taking another step forward. He had no intention of letting it go.

“Yes,” Angelica whispered. She took in a shaky breath and repeated herself, voice stronger. “Yes. You’re going to kill Alexander Hamilton, and if you don’t, I’m exposing you as Mr. Grin.”

Aaron offered a hand. “Deal.”

He supposed it made sense. Alexander Hamilton wasn’t meant to live a long life, and Aaron certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else take it.

“You can’t just…” Thomas said. “You just...no. That’s not how that works.”

Aaron flashed Thomas a smile. “A deal’s a deal.”

He turned back to Angelica and asked, “when?”

“Tomorrow night.” Angelica pulled her purse onto her shoulder. “He’s been staying at a hotel. I’ll text you the address.”

Aaron nodded. “Have a good night, Angelica.”

“I’d love to wish you the same,” Angelica said. “But circumstances being as they are…”

“This is my first time being sent out as a hit, thank you for the honor.”

Angelica turned around and left without another word, the door slamming behind her.

“There’s nothing to stop her from calling the police now,” Thomas said. “They’re going to show up and all three of us are going to get arrested!”

“You’re the one that stopped me from killing her, so this is really your fault.”

Thomas ran a hand down his face. “I’m going to go take a very long, hot, relaxing bath. And then I’m going to go to sleep and dream of the times before I was an accomplice to a serial killer. Good night, Aaron.”

Aaron sat down in the spot Angelica had abandoned and turned his attention to the television. Thomas and Angelica had been watching some sort of cooking show. Just before the winners were being announced, Aaron looked up at the sound of footsteps.

It was George with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Did I miss anything? Thomas seemed worried about something.”

Aaron shook his head. “No, nothing too exciting.”

George seemed to hesitate for a minute before he stepped forward and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Aaron’s head. “Well, good night then. Be sure to clean up before you go to sleep.” George straightened, eyes narrowed. “If I see one drop of blood on that couch…”

“I know how to clean blood up, George,” Aaron said, tone flat.

George pulled a face but turned away and went toward his bedroom, mumbling to himself.

And it was there, an hour into the next show Aaron was watching, that it hit him: He had agreed to kill Alexander.


	19. Alexander Hamilton

Aaron spent the next day trying not to think about it too much. It was a Saturday, so it wasn’t like Aaron had work to keep his mind occupied. He kept pretending not to notice Thomas’ anxious glances or the ever ticking clock. There was a part of his brain already planning the logistics of the murder out, but it stubbornly refused to acknowledge who the intended victim was.

When eight o’clock rolled around, Aaron silently packed up his knife set, grabbed his gloves and jacket, and made his way towards the door. He could feel Thomas staring at him, but when he turned around Thomas snapped his head towards the tv.

“I’m going out,” Aaron announced. Thomas nodded curtly. “To see Alexander.” Thomas nodded again, even sharper this time. “George is with Lafayette.” Again, a nod. “And you’re…”

“I’m fine,” Thomas said, his voice far too tight to be fine. It was Aaron’s turn to nod, running his hands against his thighs. What a long way they had come from trying to flirt in the break room. Without another word, Aaron turned and marched out the door.

Aaron made his way down city sidewalks, catching the subway, and following the gps directions to Alexander’s hotel room. It was silent, Aaron trying to will his thoughts away in the pulsing evening crowd. People going home from dinner or out for early drinks moved around him in a blurr. Once again Aaron found himself anonymous and faceless in the New York rush.

It didn’t take him long to find the hotel, even less time to take the elevator up four stories and make his way down the carpeted hallway to Alexander’s door.  _ 405 _ . Aaron almost laughed - their dorm number freshman year. He hesitated outside the dark wood, the first hints of realization that he was actually going to do this washing over him.

Hotel rooms could be broken into, Aaron knew that, but somehow that didn’t feel right. Instead he pulled his sleeve over his hand and knocked briskly on the door. For a moment, he didn’t think Alexander heard it, or perhaps he wasn’t in, but then he heard faint shuffling followed by the slide of the deadbolt.

When Alexander opened the door the first thing Aaron noticed was just how pathetic he looked. Hair down and stuck up at weird angles. Huge dark circles hung below his eyes but when he spoke the scent of alcohol was surprisingly absent from his breath.

“Oh, are you perhaps Eliza’s divorce lawyer? Is that the next shitty card the universe is playing?” Alexander asked, voice hard and low, almost devoid of emotion. Aaron shook his head.

“No, Alex I -”

“Then fuck off,” Alexander said, going to swing the door shut hard. Aaron stuck his foot in the door before it could shut, stifling the wince at the impact.

“Alexander-”

“I said  _ fuck off _ .” Alexander kicked at Aaron’s toe, trying to force Aaron out of the doorway. Aaron grabbed the edge of the door and pushed it open, shocked at the sheer lack of strength in Alexander’s fight.

“Alexander, we need to talk,” Aaron said, pushing the door wide open.

“You ruined my life,” Alexander said, but he still took a step back from the door. Once again, Aaron shook his head.

“You ruined your own life,” Aaron replied, perhaps tactlessly but still. Honesty was important.

“You didn’t have to…” Alexander trailed. Aaron could tell Alexander was trying to glare at him, with his jaw set and arms folded, but his eyes betrayed him in the sheer exhaustion and even slight relief dancing there.

“Yes I did,” Aaron said. “You would have done the same exact thing.” He stepped forward, Alexander moving out of the way to let him through. 

Alexander shut the door behind him and asked, “why are you here?”

“I told you, we need to talk.” Aaron took a seat in the chair in the corner and Alexander fell down onto the bed.

“What’s there to talk about? What more could you possibly have to say to me?”

Aaron ran his finger along the strap of his bag, the leather edges an old comfort. “You’re my friend,” he said. “My first friend, even.”

Alexander snorted.

“Surely that’s got to mean something.”

“I’m not sure it does,” Alexander said, looking toward the curtains drawn over the window.

“Fine,” Aaron said, moving to stand up. “I guess this was a waste of time. I’ll just leave you here alone, since you’re doing so great for yourself.”

He had barely made it past the bed before Alexander’s hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him back. “Actually…”

Aaron looked down at Alexander. “Hmmmm?”

Alexander sighed. “You’re right. We should talk.”

Aaron smiled and returned to the chair he had been sitting in before, this time taking the bag off of his shoulders and setting it on the table. It was in easy reach, a reminder of just why he was there. Aaron frowned to himself, trying to force the thought away. He’d worry about it later. For now, he’d let himself enjoy the last time he had with Alexander.

“What’s wrong with you?” Alexander asked. “Has something happened?”

Aaron shook his head. “No, just… it’s been a while. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss our Sunday brunches.”

Alexander’s eyes widened. “Really?! I thought you hated them.”

“Believe it or not,” Aaron said. “You have managed to grow on me over the years.”

“I knew it!” Alexander leaned forward, a long-missing light visible in his eyes, a small smile on his face. There was a glimpse of the old Alexander, recently buried under stress and paranoia and terrible decisions.

Aaron lifted a shoulder in a shrug and made himself relax, forcing the mental countdown from his mind.

“So,” Aaron started. “What have you been up to?”

Alexander motioned to the room around him, as if to say  _ what do you think?  _ “Writing, trying to get ahold of Eliza, researching, exactly what you’d expect I’m sure,” Alexander said.

It was achingly familiar, this closeness. Their conversation mirroring ones they'd had a hundred times before. 

“Have you been sleeping enough?” Aaron already knew the answer to that question, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. The old pattern of it was soothing.

Alexander’s gaze fixated on a spot above Aaron’s shoulder. “I’ve been sleeping enough.” Translation: he hadn’t been sleeping at all except for a hour of fitful rest here and there when his body couldn’t take it anymore.

Aaron looked at Alexander for a moment. He ran his eyes over the strong features, taking in everything that was Alexander. He leaned forward and knocked a fist against Alexander’s arm. “You gotta take care of yourself,” he said. “It might seem bad right now, but you’re not going to get anything done if you’re not all here. You know this, you’ve learned this the hard way.”

“Hmmmmmm,” was all Alexander’s response. There was a moment of silence, Aaron picking at the end of the armchair.

“So, what have you been researching?” Aaron asked.

“Well,” Alexander started, the grating tone he took whenever he was prepared to speak for hours on end filling Aaron’s ears. “So, I started looking into patterns of serial killers and from there is just kind of kept going.”

Aaron sighed, but motioned for Alexander to continue.

“Well, we know the serial killer is male just because the likelihood of a female strangler is slim to none,” Alexander said, starting to talk faster. It was familiar, “and male serial killers tend to target strangers and while I’m not saying everyone who has been killed are the best of friends, there’s certainly a connection there-”

“Yes, we all know the connection is you,” Aaron said, tone flat.

“Yes!” Alexander punctuated it with a slap to his knees. “And the further you go back the more it makes sense! Think about Hercules!”

Aaron had worried it’d be difficult, that he’d need to work himself up to begin to consider it, but the old anxiety balling up - more intense than anything he had felt before - in his chest told him that maybe killing Alexander wouldn’t be so difficult after all. “What about Hercules?” he asked.

“He never would have fallen from a roof! Even had someone run at him full force, we both know how much effort it actually took to get him to move an inch. He was built like a fucking brick wall man, you can’t tell me otherwise.” Alexander was scooting closer to Aaron, arms moving wildly at his sides as he emphasized his words with large movements.

“Even muscular people can be clumsy.”

“Not Hercules!” Alexander asserted. “He was insane.”

“Are you sure you’re not?” Aaron asked, brow quirked.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, but he continued as if Aaron hadn’t said a thing, “Hercules wouldn’t have slipped off a side of the building from some breeze and John wouldn’t have overdosed - he never would have trusted some sleazy guy enough for that to happen!”

“You knew John for less than a year,” Aaron said, tone sharp. “You don’t know what he would have or wouldn’t have done!”

“Neither do you!” Alexander shot back. “You’re still jealous, aren’t you?” The same odd gleam that had been haunting Alexander’s gaze these pasts months was back. “That’s it! You didn’t want me to have other friends, you always got so weird about it! Hell, you even had to approve of Eliza, as if Eliza was ever anything less than perfect!”

Aaron gripped the arms of his chair tightly, fingers digging in, his nails scratching against the rough fabric. He took in a deep breath, the tightness spreading from his chest up his throat and down through his torso. In a way, he supposed the intensity of the feeling was a blessing - the increasing need to get rid of it would motivate him if nothing else would.

“Alexander-”

“No!” Alexander yelled, suddenly. “You don’t get to do that! You always do that! You’ve always tip-toed around this, since it happened! Hell, you didn’t even tell me about John’s death, and you’re the one that fucking found him!”

“Alex-”

“I had to find out from Hercules!” Alexander stood up, leaning over Aaron. “Who then died like two weeks later! Do you know what that felt like? To come home and be prepared to tell you and have you look up with no emotion whatsoever and say that you already knew - that you were the one that called it in!”

Enough time had gone by that Aaron knew he should be over John by now, that his infatuation of a couple of months should be nothing more than a memory, but there was nothing false about the pain in his voice when he stood up and stared down Alexander and said, “how do you think I felt when I found him?! Do you think that I was just  _ okay _ with that? You weren’t the only person who cared about John!”

Aaron’s chest was heaving, and the tension was thick between them as realization slowly came over Alexander’s face. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Oh my god.”

“Alexander-”

“Oh my god!” Alexander took a step back, his knees hitting the bed and knocking him down back onto it. “You were in love with John” Alexander shook his head and started to mutter to himself, “how couldn’t I have known. Oh my god, it was so  _ obvious. _ ” He looked back up at Aaron. “You were in love with John.”

Aaron grit his teeth together. “It doesn’t matter what I did or did not feel for John Laurens. He’s  _ dead _ . Besides, John only ever had eyes for you.”

The last part should have been too low to hear, but when did things ever go to plan in relation to Alexander? “You  _ were _ jealous,” Alexander said.

“It doesn’t matter what I was,” Aaron insisted. “I’d much rather focus on what we are now.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Alexander said.

“What doesn’t make any sense?” Aaron leaned back against the table, hands curling around the edges. His wrist brushed up against leather of his bag.

Alexander shook his head. “The killer left John’s journal, why would they have John’s journal?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Aaron answered.

“I think you do.” Alexander looked surprised at his own words.

“Oh?”

Alexander’s gaze hardened. “I have the rest of those journals...you were in love with John...the one had the portrait...you...you’ve always been here…”

“That’s because we’re friends,” Aaron said, knowing exactly where Alexander’s mind was taking him. “That’s what friends do. We’re here for one another.”

He was proud, almost, of Alexander finally making the connection.

“Why are you here, Aaron? Actually?”

“Because this is where you are.”

“You’ve always followed me,” Alexander said, voice started to get a tone of accusatory. “You’ve always been here…”

Aaron let out a long, drawn out sigh. His entire body was wound like a string, and he was using a significant amount of energy restraining himself and staying still.

“Alexander,” he said, pushing himself off the table and walking toward the window, curtains still drawn. The fabric was hideous - red, brown, and gold paisley - and Aaron knew he’d never be able to stand the sight of it again. “Come here.”

“Why?” Despite the audible caution, Alexander was soon standing to Aaron’s left.

“You’re my best friend,” Aaron said, hands clasped behind his back. “I just want to make sure you know that.”

“Aaron?”

He took in a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders back to help ease some of the nervous energy.

“Aaron, tell me what’s going on!” Alexander’s voice rang in his ears. Aaron closed his eyes and focused on the feelings running through him, the itching sensation urging him to move, the same one that had been festering within him his entire life. He held onto that feeling while shoving everything else aside.

It was easy, really. Despite how much Alexander must have been expecting  _ something _ , he wasn’t prepared.

Aaron turned on his heel to face Alexander and raised his arm against Alexander’s throat while pushing him back. Quick, long stride until he was pressing Alexander up against the wall. He wasn’t pressing down yet, not really, just holding Alexander in place.

He had every intention of taking his time.

“What are you doing?!” Alexander asked, hands coming up to try to pull Aaron’s arm away. “What the fuck?!”

Aaron exerted more force. “Have you really not realized yet? Do I need to spell  _ everything  _ out for you?” He shook his head and chuckled. “And here I thought you had already figured it out.”

“No…”

Aaron pressed down a little harder. Alexander’s struggles became more desperate, realization dawning. Aaron could see the final pieces come together in Alexander’s face and any hint of denial fled his expression.

“You’re-you’re-” Alexander gasped out. “You’re Mr. Grin!”

Aaron frowned, and pressed down harder.

The answering hysterical laughter was unexpected. Strained from lack of air and harsh, the laughter managed to worm its way past Aaron’s arm and out of Alexander’s throat. Alexander pulled at Aaron’s arm, head thrown back into the wall as he cackled.

“I’ve always hated that name,” Aaron gritted out.

Alexander’s laughter just got louder, until it didn’t. It wasn’t a simple silence, sputtering filling the holes, Alexander using the very last of his strength to grip at Aaron’s arm, fingernails scratching in the way a man did when taken down to his primary instinct to survive.

Alexander gave one final twitch, and his wide, lifeless eyes stared back at Aaron. The maniacal, victorious grin already stretched across Alexander’s face actually sent a chill down’ Aaron’s spine as he held Alexander in place for a few more moments. Alexander’s whole body was limp, the only thing holding him up against the wall being Aaron’s arm.

Aaron let out a breath, and with it went all of the tension that had been building up for weeks. He leaned back, and watched disinterestedly as Alexander’s body crumpled to the floor.

Alexander Hamilton had always been one who seemed completely dismissable at first glance, but he had never accepted that. He had always gone out of his way to be noticed, made his voice be heard. It was his unique, frantic energy that had defined him. Without it, Alexander’s corpse was nigh unrecognizable.

He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, the motion itself calming. He was calm. He bent down and rolled Alexander onto his back, laying him out in the small space between the bed and the window. Aaron peered down at Alexander’s frozen face. It wasn’t a pleasant expression.

He stood back up and walked the short distance to the table. His bag was still there - untouched - and he opened it to reveal the collection of knives he had brought with him. They were his favorites - the nice set he kept stored away, for special occasions. Thomas and George must not have recognized the bag for what it was when they were packing his things.

The one that Aaron pulled out of the bag had been a gift to himself - a particularly sharp tool, Japanese make. It boasted things such as being able to cut through solid bone. He had never been able to bring himself to use it, not wanting to taint it with someone unworthy.

Alexander had always sought the best, and Aaron supposed it was the least he could do.

When he knelt back down, it was with a sense of peace flowing through him. He ran his hand through Alexander’s greasy hair, fanning it around his head in a mockery of a halo. Aaron snorted before he ran his hand through it again and messed it up. Better that way.

It was with a practiced motion that Aaron hooked a finger under Alexander’s lip to slide the knife under. The tension started to drip from his shoulders at the first sight of blood.

It was too practiced, the knife too sharp.

Instead of a single line from the corner of his mouth to the middle of his cheek as planned, the knife hadn’t followed the curve of Alex’s lip to the corner, but instead cut right through, straight up, past his nose, and stopping at the cheekbone. There wasn’t a single bit of resistance.

Aaron felt something like giddiness as he examined the now bloody knife in hand.. He’d need to match the cut on the other side of Alexander’s face.

And he did, with glee.

The impossibly sharp metal slid through the meat of Alexander’s cheeks as if it was nothing. Cutting through the layers and peeling the skin away from the bone with the same artistry as if he was carving petals out of clay. The cut away skin curled as Aaron lifted it away from Alexander’s face, red and bloody and layered and twisted like some sort of human rose. It was grotesque.

His smile was very nearly identical to Alexander’s by the time he was finished, blood covering his hands and dripping down his face.

Aaron sat back onto his heels and admired his handiwork. It was perfect, his grandest piece. Satisfaction like nothing he had ever felt before curled in his chest. All the months of pent-up anxiety had flowed out of him like the blood now pouring from Alexander’s completely destroyed face.

When Aaron stood it was like he was lighter than air. He practically bounced on his feet as he went back to his bag, put his knife back and shoved his bloodied jacket into the bag. It felt like his first kill, the calm overtaking him where there should be adrenaline and anxiety. Walking out of that room was like walking away from the dump-site of his first victim.

It was with a spring in his step that Aaron walked down the hallway, rode the elevator down and made his way out the front door. He couldn’t stop smiling even as he power-walked past the desk worker, who didn’t even look up from her computer as she called a bland ‘have a good day.’

The trip home was a blur, filled with weird glances that Aaron didn’t pay any mind to. The grin on his face almost hurt but he just kept smiling. It felt so darn  _ good _ to be free of that ever present storm in his chest.

Aaron’s steps were jaunty, almost dancing as he made his way back to George’s building. All the tension in his shoulders was gone as he rode the elevator to the top floor. He let himself into the apartment, not even sparing a glance towards Lafayette’s place and dropped his bag on the counter.

Thomas stood from the couch, a glimmer in his eyes as he looked at Aaron. “It’s done?” Thomas asked, almost hoarse. The lights were off around him but for a few candles, gentle music playing from Thomas’ phone on the table.

Aaron nodded, the smile still stretched across his face. “It’s done,” he said. “I did it.”

Thomas’ eyes flashed, his shoulders hunched as he took in the sight of Aaron. A part of Aaron was  _ sure  _ Thomas would leave or say something awful but his head was swimming in satisfaction and nothing Thomas could say would knock him out of the clouds.

“Come on,” Thomas sighed, “Let's get you cleaned up.” Thomas stepped forward and to Aaron’s dim shock, took Aaron’s hand in his and gently led Aaron into the bathroom.

Thomas turned on the bathtub, letting it fill before turning around again. “Clothes,” Thomas said, voice quiet. Aaron nodded, not even caring as he stripped his shirt and pants off. Thomas averted his eyes, feeling the water and watching it rise to an acceptable level. Once Thomas deemed it good enough, he stepped aside. “Alright, it’s yours,” Thomas said.

Aaron soon found himself sitting in a tub of warm water, not too hot to hurt but just right. He still wore his boxers, which was fine, because Thomas sat down next to the bathtub after he carefully put Aaron’s bloodied clothes on the counter.

Aaron put his hands in the water and watched the dark red blood turn pink in the bath. It swirled as Aaron gently wiggled his fingers, almost fascinated with the way it danced. Aaron couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Thomas looked down at him with an odd gleam in his eyes, hands clasped in front of him. Aaron simply splashed in the water, seeing his own bloody reflection distorted in the ripples he made. Everything was calm, everything was  _ wonderful _ .

“Come on, we can’t play forever,” Thomas eventually said, an odd sort of fondness to his voice. When Aaron didn’t respond, Thomas gently pulled one of Aaron’s hands from the water and handed him a bar of soap. Aaron still didn’t really do anything with it, his attention focused on his other hand making a whirlpool of pink water.

“You’re not shaking anymore,” Thomas mused, gently taking the soap from Aaron’s hands and starting to lather it in his own. A moment later Thomas was scrubbing what blood was left on Aaron’s hand, working the skin until the white lather ran red.

Aaron looked up when he felt the soothing pressure and motions on his hand, finally realizing that Thomas was  _ there  _ and helping him clean up the  _ blood _ . Aaron made a little sound in the back of his throat, and Thomas looked up from where he was watching what he was doing.

“We can’t tell George about this,” Thomas murmured, putting Aaron’s hand back in the water. The soap dispersed in the water and when Thomas pulled Aaron’s hand back out, it was clean. Thomas let that hand fall into the water and reached for the other.

Aaron nodded, letting Thomas repeat the ministrations on his other hand. It was kind of like a hand massage, romantic in a way. Especially once Thomas deemed that hand was finished, grabbed a washrag from George’s towel rod and started to wipe Aaron’s face clean as well.

It was the most non-violent physical contact they’d had in months, and Thomas’ face hovered just inches away from Aaron’s. Aaron let Thomas work his skin over with the soapy rag. Thomas gently rinsed Aaron’s face, and then ran the cloth over the back of Aaron’s head. Thomas’ hands came to rest at the base of Aaron’s skull and in the post-kill euphoria, Aaron let his body move without thinking.

Their first kiss since moving in together was soft, not unlike the first kiss they ever shared. And Thomas responded, leaning into it as much as Aaron did. If Aaron hadn’t already been to weightless, a huge burden would have been lifted from his shoulders in the feeling of Thomas’ lips on his.

When Aaron finally pulled back, they looked at eachother for a long moment. “Are we good?” Aaron asked. Thomas nodded almost immediately.

“We’re good,” Thomas replied. “I’m so sorry.”

Aaron smiled, the muscles settling back into place after the kiss. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s all okay.”


	20. Angelica Schuyler

George looked confused when Thomas crawled into the king size bed with him and Aaron, but pointedly chose not to say anything in case Thomas changed his mind or backed out. Aaron fell asleep that night with calm still flooding his veins, his boyfriends on either side of him. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning, groggily looked around him at the other two men still asleep, that it suddenly hit him full force:

He had killed Alexander last night.

Fuck.

George woke up before Thomas, like usual, and left the bed to start coffee. The moment the door swung shut behind George, Aaron’s hands were on Thomas’ shoulders, shaking him awake with enough force to shake the headboard, casing it to thump against the wall. “Thomas,” he hissed. “Thomas wake up.”

Thomas, blearily shocked into consciousness, batted Aaron’s hands away and sat up. “What?” He asked, voice thick from sleep. It would be an endearing sound if Aaron wasn’t already halfway panicking.

“I  _ killed  _ Alexander Hamilton last night,” Aaron said, keeping his voice low and ears pricked for the sound of George coming back. Thomas nodded, rubbing the sleep from his face, froze and then looked up at Aaron.

“You killed Hamilton.”

“I killed Hamilton.”

“Holy shit you killed Hamilton.”

“I believe we’ve established that, yes!” Aaron snapped, still keeping his voice down. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, you’re the serial killer here!” Thomas snapped back, keeping his voice as quiet as Aaron’s. Aaron glanced at the closed bedroom door.

“We can’t tell George.”

“Hell no we can’t,” Thomas agreed. There was a pause as both of them considered their options.

“Bells,” Aaron said suddenly. Thomas nodded furiously.

“Yeah, yeah okay. Bells did it out of revenge.”

“Revenge, good.”

“Oh fuck you killed Hamilton,” Thomas breathed.

“We have to stop saying that out loud,” Aaron responded.

“Breakfast!” George called from the kitchen, his voice just carrying through the apartment and through the closed bedroom door. Thomas and Aaron shared a look.

“You killed Hamilton.”

“Have anything else to say?” Aaron asked.

“No, I just… needed to say it one more time. Get it out of my system,” Thomas said, slowly pulling back the sheets.

Breakfast was interesting, with Thomas halfway in a guilty daze and Aaron just watching George, knowing that there will come a moment where George finds out his almost son was dead. George tried to keep up the friendly chatter, but neither Thomas nor Aaron were in the mood to respond.

The dreaded moment came not an hour into the workday. Thomas and Aaron had settled into their office, both watching the clock and waiting. George had left to go to his own office. For almost an hour, there was nothing but silence. Thomas and Aaron just staring at eachother and the wall of victims and the floor. Waiting.

The moment George opened the door to their office, Aaron knew. Aaron knew that George must have been told that Alexander was dead. The hard lines of his face, the stiff posture, the ice that almost seemed to form behind George as he walked into the office.

Aaron looked up, his own heart chilling at the sight. From the corner of his eye he could see the way Thomas blanched. “George?” Aaron asked, as if he didn’t already know what was about to come out of George’s mouth. George took a long breath, and when he spoke his voice was even, completely controlled and monotone.

“Alexander Hamilton was found dead last night in his hotel room,” George said. “Strangulation. Face carved up badly enough they had to use  _ fingerprints  _ to identify him.”

The silence in the room now felt almost natural. Aaron could see the guilt plastered across Thomas’ face and he hurriedly stood to keep George’s attention on him and away from Thomas.

“George-”

“No.” George shook his head, a sharp motion. “Not now.”

Aaron took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Then what do-”

“Work,” George said, walking to stand at Thomas’ side in front of the wall of victims’ faces. “We have to work.”

Aaron swallowed, but brought his arm back down by his side and fell into line beside George. Alexander’s face would soon be joining the others, a shining star among them.

“When are we getting the evidence?” he asked.

“Aaron,” Thomas hissed, leaning behind George.

“We should be getting it soon,” George answered. “I...I want to be here when you go through it.”

Aaron nodded, holding back the wince at the words. “Of course,” he said. “I understand.”

A moment of silence passed.

George’s hand came up to squeeze his shoulder. “I know this is hard for you too.”

Aaron nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll..be back,” George said, stepping away from them. “I have some calls to make.”

“Right,” Thomas said. “Of course.”

Aaron and Thomas remained facing forward and George left the office. The door clicked shut, and it was only after enough time had passed that it was clear they were alone that Aaron turned to look at Thomas.

“So,” he started. “What do you suppose we do?”

Thomas brought a hand to his face. “I have no fucking clue.”

There was a knock at the door - three short beats. “Aaron? You in there?” Angelica’s voice called out.

Aaron sighed, closing his eyes as he took a moment to prepare himself. “Yes,” he said. “It’s just me and Thomas.”

Angelica walked in and slammed the door behind her, taking a moment to lock it.

“Aaron,” she said, walking toward him, no hint of kindness in her gaze. “You complete and utter asshole.”

Aaron clasped his hands behind his back and raised a brow. “What have I done now?” he asked, tone purposefully light. To his side, he heard the distinct sound of Thomas hitting himself in the face.

“You know exactly what you did.”

“I did only what was asked of me,” he said. “I am, in that sense, your obedient servant.”

Angelica took in a deep, shaky breath, he hands balled into fists at her side. “You weren’t supposed to actually do it!” she said, a rage-filled whisper. “Do you understand what you’ve done to Eliza?! Me?! This office?! You’ve ruined  _ everything _ .”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Aaron asked, taking a careful step backward. “You told me that if I didn’t kill Alexander, you’d turn me in.”

“Don’t say his name!” she said. “Don’t you  _ dare _ .”

“I don’t get what you’re so mad about!” Aaron said. “You literally asked me to kill my best friend! And I did! And now you come in here acting like I did  _ you _ wrong.”

Angelica’s jaw dropped. “You-you-you psychopath! He was your best friend! And you killed him!”

“Only because you asked me to!” Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides,” he said. “I know enough about myself to be able to tell you with confidence that I am not a psychopath.”

“I can’t believe you!” Angelica was no longer whispering. “Alexander is dead! And it’s all your fault!”

The door handle jostled as someone tried to open it. “Is everything alright?” George’s voice called in. “The evidence has arrived.”

Aaron shot Thomas a panicked look.

“I’m getting it,” Thomas said, looking just as unsure.

Thomas held open the door, and George walked in, the closed box in his hands. 

Aaron closed the gap between him and Angelica and wrapped his arms around her. “She’s not dealing with it well,” he said.

George frowned. “I imagine she isn’t.”

Angelica pushed away from Aaron, scowling. “It’s all his fault,” she said. “Everything. If he wasn’t here, none of this would have happened. Alexander wouldn’t have been dead if they hadn’t met!”

George set the box down with a sigh. He walked over and placed his hands on Angelica’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Miss. Schuyler,” he said, looking down at her and meeting her eyes. “Trust me when I say I understand how hard this is, but it’s...it’s not Aaron’s fault. I know the temptation to lie the blame at  _ someone’s _ feet, but we can’t. We can’t do that. It’s not that simple.”

Angelica closed her eyes, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “It’s never simple,” she said.

Angelica forced her way out from George’s grip, and wiped away the tear. She gave Aaron another look and said, “you’re going to pay for this.”

And then she was gone, the slam of the door behind her reverberating in the small space of the office. They all stood there for a long moment before George turned back to the box, carefully opened the top, and started to pull files and photographs out of it.

“Angelica just needs some time,” George said softly. “Once she’s out of this original stage of grief she’ll understand that Aaron had nothing to do with Bellamy…. With what Bellamy did.”

Thomas shot Aaron a look, and Aaron took a step forward. “Bellamy?” He asked, hoping George already came to the ‘right’ conclusion. George nodded as he took a few photographs in hand and tacked them up on the ‘actual Bellamy kills’ whiteboard.

“Of course. Bellamy is the only one who would do something like this to Alexander,” George said, each word landing hard in the tense air.

“We could say that Bellamy killed King as a result of personal anger and that Alexander was...the next on his list,” Aaron offered.

“I forgot about King,” George admitted. “Well, the two murders should work in our favor.” George stepped away from the whiteboard, turning back to the box and Aaron could see where he’d pinned up Alexander’s ‘after’ photo next to a picture of him before.

Aaron looked at the photograph, his stomach sinking as he took in exactly how much damage he’d done to Alexander’s face. He’d known it had been a bit… overboard but he didn’t remember it being that bad. He spared a glance at Thomas, the other man looking almost nauseous and pale, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

“Thomas, are you alright?” George asked, and Aaron just managed to keep himself from wincing. Thomas looked over at George, eyes dull.

“Are we sure  _ that’s  _ Alexander?” Thomas said, pointing at the after photo. “That… that  _ thing  _ is what’s left of Hamilton?” George nodded, his face grim as Thomas glanced quickly between him and Aaron. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I’ve got some nausea tablets in my office,” George offered. Thomas nodded, jaw clamped shut. A look of relief flitted briefly across George’s face as he got the opportunity to step out of the office and away from the pictures.

Thomas waited only a moment before turning to Aaron. “What the actual fuck?” Thomas asked. “You were just supposed to kill him, not…”

“I got a little carried away,” Aaron responded, trying to keep his voice light. Thomas’ gaze hardened.

“You. Got. A.  _ Little. _ Carried. Away?” Thomas said, each word almost spat at Aaron’s feet. Aaron just nodded. Thomas opened his mouth to speak again but George came back into the room before Thomas could.

“Are you two okay?” George asked. “I know this one is particularly difficult.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re fine. As fine as we can be.”

“Very good.” George stepped forward and looked at the wall again.

Thomas stepped to George’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t easy for you,” Thomas offered. “I know...I don’t know how much it means, and I know we’re at work...but...we’re here for you.”

A very large part of Aaron wanted to step to George’s other side, mirror Thomas’ actions and repeat the words, but even he couldn’t quite get passed the hurdle of  _ wrongness _ .

George took in a deep, slow and shaky breath. “You’re right,” he muttered. “It’s not easy. Alexander was... he was a  _ son _ to me. Even when you couldn’t stand the kid you couldn’t deny he was full of life. This is...unexpected is a kind word.”

_ Full of life.  _ Aaron blinked away the memory of Alexander’s crumpled corpse on the ground while Thomas guided George over to a chair. “You’ve been working all morning. You need to take at least a moment to just sit,” Thomas said.

George fell into the seat with a thud. “I have to work,” he said. “It’s...it’s something I need to do.”

“And we all know that you’re going to be dying on the inside, George!” Thomas shot back. “It’s going to hurt, but we’re all hurting here! It’s different, sure - Lord knows I didn’t view Hamilton as my fucking kid. But if my mother taught me anything as a kid it’s that a burden shared is a burden halved. Talk to us, George. We love you and we’re here for you.”

George dropped his head into his hands, and took in another shaky breath. “If I start I won’t stop. Now is  _ not _ the time.”

“George-”

“No,” George cut him off. “Not now. Preferably not ever.”

Aaron steeled himself, pushed down the rising guilt, and stepped to George’s side. He knelt down and pressed his lips to George’s temple. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away, George.”

“I know,” George said, voice hard. “But it will delay it.”

“George….”

“We need to get back to work.” George stood up. “I’m going to leave you two here for now. When I get back...I want...something. We need a trace to Bellamy. Figure it out.”

Aaron didn’t say another word as George left.

“You did this,” Thomas said, voice cutting. “Did you see his eyes? You did that. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Aaron sighed. “Do you think I’m happy about this?”

Thomas fell silent for a moment, turning away from both Aaron and Alexander’s photographs. “We need to solidify a case against Bellamy. I hope to dear God he doesn’t have a good alibi.”

The universe decided to look kindly upon them as Bells did indeed have a shoddy alibi, claiming he was alone in his apartment all night. Upon hearing the news, Aaron could see George visibly deflate some, relief casting the tension off George’s body in a giant wave.

\--------------

The funeral took place a little over two weeks later, and Aaron found himself in a church pew, sat between Thomas and George, all three dressed in black suits. Eliza and Angelica sat in the first row, Elia dutifully listening to the reverend speak, but Aaron caught the half-second glance Angelica threw his way.

Eliza spoke, her eulogy poetic and beautiful, however her voice maintained a solemn gravity to it, her grief turned cold as she addressed the moderate gathering. Never once did her eyes stray to the closed coffin, never once did her voice hitch or break through her speech.

Beside Aaron, George kept his head bowed, his hands clasped together in what looked like prayer. He too never looked at the sleek black coffin that housed Alexander’s body. Aaron found his eyes scanned the edges of the huge bouquet that adorned the coffin. Ribbons trailed down from it, white silk with rose blossoms woven into it.

Soon enough, Aaron found himself next to George as they helped to carry the coffin from the church and down to the hearse. The ride through the cemetery was silent, Thomas having taken the wheel as George rode in the back.

Burying Alexander seemed almost too fast, too quick for such a man. When the coffin was lowered into the ground Aaron could see over the space where Eliza and Angelica stood. Eliza watched her husband be placed into the grave with a mesh veil over her face. Angelica glared at him, one arm wrapped around her sister.

Eliza had gone and purchased a coffin cover, a stone slab to protect Alexander’s coffin from the tons of dirt to be placed on top of it. As it too was fitted into the ground, Aaron could see the engraving left there  _ - _

_ Before no mortal ever knew _

_ A love like mine so tender, true, _ _   
_ _ Completely wretched—you away, _ _   
_ _ And but half blessed e’en while you stay. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ If present love _ _   
_ _ Deny you to my fond embrace _ _   
_ __ No joy unmixed my bosom warms

_ But when my angel’s in my arms. _

\- and the only thought Aaron had was how shoddy of a poet Alexander really was. It didn’t even rhyme properly.

\--------------

Thomas drove them home despite George’s protests. The drive was silent, and not a single word was said even as they made their way to George’s apartment.

George followed Thomas to the couch, seemingly lost in his own thought. Aaron shut the door and took in a deep breath.

“George,” Thomas said. “We’re home now. We can talk.”

Aaron steadied himself as he walked over and sat on George’s other side. He rested his hand on George’s knee. “We need to talk about this. We can’t ignore it,” he said. “We’re going to have to go right back tomorrow and face it all day after day until Bellamy is in jail. We can’t ignore it.”

“Of course we can’t ignore it,” George bit out, first words spoken in hours, sharp and digging. “I wish I could ignore it. I want nothing more than to pretend that Alexander is alive and well, and that he’ll call me in a couple of hours and complain and tell me that it’s a shitty prank that everyone took too seriously.”

George dropped his head into his hands and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t...I  _ can’t _ ignore it. Everywhere I look I feel like there’s just a huge reminder that says he’s not here. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Thomas moved his hand to George’s shoulder. “I know it’s not-”

“No!” George suddenly yelled, standing up and walking away from them. “You don’t know! That’s the thing! Neither of you know!” He started to pace, hands flailing at his sides. “Sure, you knew him! Hell! Everyone knows him, didn’t know how to make himself not known! But that’s not the point! He was my  _ son _ . Do you understand how instrumental he was to my life?! How much he means?!”

Aaron carefully stood up. “George-”

“No! No! Stop it!” George said, stopping his pacing and turning to face him. “Don’t try to make this seem okay! Because it’s not! And yet! As you so kindly reminded me, I have to go in tomorrow and pretend that it’s fine, that’s it’s just another day on the job. But it’s not! It’s  _ not _ !”

George turned around and started to pace again, hands going to the back of his neck, anxious energy coming off him in waves. George stopped suddenly.

Thomas stood up, approaching George. “Are you-”

“Argh!” George’s hand wrapped around a vase on the shelf and threw it at the opposite wall. It shattered with a spectacular sound, colored glass raining down to the floor. There was a moment of stillness, both Aaron and Thomas struck dumb with shock. “No,” George whispered, dropping to his knees. “I’m not.”

Aaron was frozen in place, eyes locked on the pieces of broken glass lying scattered on the ground. He was the one who had done this to George. It was  _ his fault. _

Thomas knelt beside George and wrapped his arms around him. “We’re here for you,” Thomas whispered. “And we always will be.”

Aaron didn’t miss the glare Thomas aimed his way.


	21. Jonathan Bellamy

Jonathan Bellamy was arrested three days later for the murders of Alexander Hamilton and George King, and this time ended up with a court appointed attorney. No private defense lawyer was exactly demanding to take on the man who had supposedly murdered his last lawyer.

Which is how Aaron, Thomas and George found themselves opposite the most frazzled, terrified young man to ever work as defense council. James Wilkinson was a mousy man, his suit much too large and screaming of a man so desperate to put food on the table he couldn’t refuse the job. That didn’t stop Wilkinson from sitting as far away from his client as he could manage.

Wilkinson was no King, not in the way his shakily opened his briefcase and threw papers onto the meeting table. Court hadn’t started yet, Wilkinson had requested a hearing, so they were all stuck in the judge’s chambers, close enough quarters that Aaron was actually a little worried that Bells would somehow be able to reach out and touch him.

“I m-motion to d-dismiss the ch-charges against my, uh, my client,” Wilkinson stuttered, not even looking over at Bellamy, “for r-reason of d-double jeopardy.”

Aaron frowned, scooted back from the table when something brushed against his foot, and said “Double Jeopardy? How could we be charging Mr. Bellamy of a crime he’s already been found innocent of?”

“Well, uh,” Wilkinson looked up at the judge. “It’s clear that the last t-trial Mr. Bellamy was p-put through was done to determine if he was the, uh, the serial killer known as Mr. Grin. He was f-found innocent, but it seems the prosecution wishes to try him again.”

“We have not repeated any murder charge from the last set in these new charges,” Aaron countered. “Mr. King and Mr. Hamilton -” Thomas flinched at the name - “were murdered in between the last trial and now.”

“Maybe, um, maybe so, but it’s clear the murders of Mr. K-King and Mr. Hamilton were the work of the same man who k-killed all of the victims listed in the last trial, so ergo the… ergo the DA is attempting to try my client for the same c-crime, your honor.”

The judge hummed. “But the victims are different,” he mused. Wilkinson nodded.

“B-but the in- intent is the same.”

Aaron felt like each stutter and stumble of Wilkinson’s speech grated against his very ears. It was only made worse by the fact the man’s argument was just about sound. Better than anything King had ever presented at any rate. “It is the opinion of the prosecution that the last trial was faulty due to jury tampering on the part of Mr. King,” he said. “And even if that were the case, we are not attempting to try Mr. Bellamy for any of the crimes he has already been found innocent of.”

“This is the first time I’ve heard of any potential jury tampering,” the judge said, leaning forward onto the table. “Do you have any proof of this?”

George cleared his throat and began to speak just as Aaron felt something tap against his leg again. When he glanced in the direction it came from he found Bells had pushed himself closer to the table. Once again, Aaron scooted his chair back and tucked his legs under his seat. He tried to turn his attention to George, only to be distracted by the gentle scrape of Bells’ chair.

When Aaron looked at the man again, Bells was sat with his stomach pressing into the table, like a child attempting to reach the cake in the center of a large dinner spread. When something - likely a foot - once again collided with his thigh, Aaron stood up on impulse.

“Mr. Burr,” the judge said. “Is everything alright?”

Aaron nodded. “I just need some air,” he said. “It’s a bit stuffy in here is all.”

The disbelief was evident on the judge’s face, but he made no move to object.

George stood up. “I’ll go with him, he’s right. It’s a bit stuffy.”

“Of course,” the judge said. “We could all use a short break.”

Aaron turned on his heel and walked out the door, turning the corner and walking down the hall until he felt some of the panic that had hit him go away. He needed space. It shouldn’t have been so much to be in the same room as Bellamy, and yet, here he was.

He stepped into an alcove and stopped, sagging against the wall. He brought a hand to cover his face and took in a deep breath.

“Aaron?” George whispered, joining him in the alcove.

Aaron removed his hand from his face and looked up. George looked just as bad as he felt, the mask he had been wearing before gone. It was heartbreaking, knowing that George trusted him like this.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.” George slowly reached out and intertwined their fingers. “You aren’t the only one affected.”

Aaron nodded.

“I just…” George muttered. “I can’t…” George looked to the ground. “He killed Alexander. I thought I’d be able to hold it together, but…”

Aaron squeezed George’s hand. “I know,” he said. “Take in a deep breath. It’s stupid, I know, but it helps.”

George leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron heard George take in a deep, shaky breath. “Of course,” George whispered. “Deep breaths. The sooner we focus on this the quicker it’ll be taken care of and the quicker he’ll be in jail.”

“Exactly,” Aaron said, wrapping an arm around George’s waist. “It’ll all be over soon.”

It was funny, how it was so much easier to push down any guilt he might have felt while comforting the man whose pain he was directly responsible for.

“Soon,” George repeated. “Very soon.”

They stood there in silence, Aaron’s arm wrapped around George, holding him up.

Aaron didn’t know how long had passed before Thomas literally ran into them.

“Oh, there you are,” Thomas said, breathless. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Aaron extended his arm, and soon Thomas’ face was pressed against his neck, and he could feel hot tears against his skin.

“He killed James,” Thomas said, voice muffled. “I don’t how I had just  _ forgotten _ about it before, but I was sitting there and  _ oh my god _ .”

Aaron rubbed his hand up and down Thomas’ back. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

“And Alexander,” George said from Aaron’s other side. “Both of them. How are we supposed to do this? How are we supposed to go in there and look him in the eye and pretend he isn’t directly responsible for all of this?”

Aaron just squeezed them both tighter, saying nothing and ignoring the irony of the moment.

George tensed at Aaron’s side before take a step back, pulling away from Aaron’s embrace. “We have to get back to work.”

\--------------

The judge eventually decided he wanted another hearing on the double jeopardy matter, with all the evidence George, Thomas and Aaron could bring on King’s jury tampering. Which was good because Bells was still in custody, but bad because now George was pacing the living room of the apartment, a worried and strained look on his face.

“If the charges get dismissed we’ll never get anywhere with him ever again,” George says. “It will be the same double jeopardy argument over and over again until the end of time.”

“Or the governor cuts off the investigation,” Thomas muttered. “Eventually someone’ll ask why we don’t move on to another suspect.”

“We have to do this right this time. We can’t afford to try and frame Bells  _ again _ ,” George says. “King was… King was dicey enough.” Aaron bit down on the observation that if George had stayed in the car, Aaron could have taken care of it as cleanly as he always did. “We can’t do another frame job -  _ I  _ can’t do another frame job.”

“The only guaranteed way to get Bells in jail is a plea deal,” Thomas said.

“Wilkinson is useless.” George ran his hands down his face. “There’s no point in trying to negotiate with him.” There was a pause, then, “I just need this bastard in jail so Alexander can rest.”

Aaron hid the flinch that Thomas failed at suppressing. Luckily, George’s eyes were cast downward and away from Thomas. Thomas really needed some acting lessons. Aaron took a breath.

“Why worry about Wilkinson at all then?” Aaron asked. “Why not negotiate directly with Bellamy?”

“That’s illegal Aaron,” Thomas said. “We can’t talk to him without an attorney present.”

“‘That’s illegal Aaron,’” Aaron repeated, pointing at himself with one hand. Thomas frowned.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Thomas muttered. George, face pressed into his hands, spoke just loud enough to be heard through his fingers.

“There’s no way any of us could sneak into  _ jail  _ to make some deal with Bellamy directly. Because we can’t summon him unless he decides to represent himself. There’s no way to get to him without looking suspicious.”

“You know,” Aaron started, “Bellamy would likely jump at the chance to see me.” Thomas and George both looked at him curiously. “I bet if I asked, I could get Bells to dismiss Wilkinson or waive his right or something. And I doubt Wilkinson would put up any fight.”

“Why would he want to see you though?” George asked. “You’re trying to get him arrested.”

“The same reason he’ll say yes when I ask him to plead guilty,” Aaron answered, examining his nails. “The very same reason he became my copycat in the first place. He’s obsessed with me.”

“Why do you seem to be so okay with that?” Thomas asked, sounding disgusted. “You seriously think his obsession with you will outweigh any sense of self-preservation?”

“Yes,” Aaron said, nodding. “Actually I do.”

“But how do you know for certain that Wilkinson will cooperate?” George asked, considering look on his face.

Aaron shrugged. “I’m not convinced he’s invested enough to put up too much of a fight, like I said before. Besides, did you see him at the hearing? He couldn’t sit far enough away from Bells.”

“You stormed out of the room,” Thomas said. “I don’t think he’s alone in that regard.” Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to see Bells for any particular reason?”

“Yes,” Aaron answered. “I do. I want to speak with him so he’ll plead guilty and he can go to prison and we put all of this behind us.”

“I don’t think he’ll do it,” Thomas said. “You’d have to promise him like weekly visitations or something. Going to prison would mean he’d never get to see you. For the same reason you think he’d do it, I don’t think he would.”

“Then I lie,” Aaron offered. “I tell him that as soon as his mess is settled, I’ll confess to my own murders, say that I was  _ his _ copycat or something. Tell him that we’d end up right next to each other in prison.”

George looked up, eyes wide. “That might actually work.”

\--------------

Aaron wasn’t sure what to expect when he was buzzed into the Riker’s prisoner visitation room, but it wasn’t a completely empty space with only Bells in a prison jumpsuit and Wilkinson, sat at two different tables. It wasn’t the typical two-chair-divided-by-glass set up, but more of a mess hall setting.

The moment Aaron walked through the door, Bells immediately perked up, sitting up on his backless stool. “Aaron!” He said, a grin splitting his face. “I knew you’d come eventually!”

Aaron nodded, eyeing the table Bells was sat at. It seemed large enough to preclude an extreme amount of physical contact, but he might have to suffer through Bells trying to touch his hands or play footsie. He stifled the sigh as he sat down.

“Is this not the usual visitation time?” Aaron asked. Bells shook his head.

“Oh no, most of the guys get people around now. I just told them that I wanted the visitation room all to myself today. Well, for the two of us.”

“And they listened?” Aaron asked. Bells nodded furiously.

“Everyone is so reasonable inside!” Bells said. “I mean, as long as you show them you’re not above stabbing someone with a sharpened toothbrush, they’re super accommodating!”

“Oh,” Aaron said, feeling slightly breathless. Wilkinson moved, one hand coming up to fiddle with something in his ear. Aaron glanced over, finding the man adjusting a set of wireless headphones before burying himself in a thick leather-bound novel.

“Don’t worry about him,” Bells said, jolting Aaron’s attention back to him. “I told him he wasn’t to listen or watch us.”

Aaron nodded, as if that was totally reasonable and like any competent lawyer would have listened to such a request. Bells reached out over the table and gently placed his hand on Aaron’s arm, and Aaron resisted the urge to pull away.

“So, what is it, my dear Aaron?” Bells asked. “What did you want to see me about?” The dopey smile on Bells’ face made Aaron feel almost sick, his skin crawled where Bells touched it.

“I had something to ask of you,” Aaron started. Bells leaned forward, eyes glittering.

“Of course, anything.”

Aaron took a breath, and glanced around the room. It wasn’t a particularly inviting space, cold tile and brick walls. It was so empty their voices almost echoed around them. Aaron looked at Bells, steadied himself, and said:

“I need you to plead guilty to the Hamilton and King murders.”

Bells blinked, recoiling slightly. Aaron instinctively grabbed onto Bells’ hand where it started to leave his arm. “But I didn’t kill them,” Bells said. Aaron nodded.

“I know, I know you didn’t,” Aaron said. “But it would really help me out if you  _ pretended  _ you did.”

Bells hesitated, and Aaron could almost see his internal debate in his eyes. “How?” Bells asked. “How could admitting to two murders help you out somehow?”

Aaron shifted in his seat. “I… I made a mistake,” Aaron said, looking down. He could feel Bells’ concerned, curious eyes on him.

“What mistake?” Bells prompted. Aaron hesitated, acting out the part of a man too scared to apologize.

“I made a mistake picking Thomas and George,” Aaron said, forcing the words out like a harsh admission. From the corner of his eye he could spot Bells’ face lighting up in a surprised hope and joy. “You were right. They only wanted me for… for…” Aaron trailed, squeezing Bells’ hand tight.

Bells’ breath caught. “Oh Aaron,” he said. “I… I wish I could say I didn’t see this coming, but…” Bells turned his hand over to grab Aaron’s tightly back.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron choked out, forcing emotion out where he felt nothing but tension and fear. Bells’ other hand came up to gently rub Aaron’s arm.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Bells cooed. “I’m not mad, it’s okay.”

“I went back to our apartment,” Aaron lied, “and I realized… I realized how much I missed you and…” Aaron looked up to find a mask of concern just hiding the exuberant joy in Bells’ expression. “You were right. We were meant to be.”

Bells smiled, his hands came up to hold Aaron’s face and moved as if to kiss Aaron. Alarm bells starting ringing in Aaron’s head and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking away. Bells’ smile dimmed just a bit, confusing playing across his face. “Aaron?”

“No, I… no, we can’t,” Aaron said. “There are cameras around, no one can know about us yet.”

The confusion only deepened on Bells’ face. “But why?” he asked. “Why not?”

Aaron took a long breath and gently reached to hold Bell’s hands with his own. “For the same reason I need you to plead guilty now.” Bells’ eyes still shown with confusion. “I need to get away from Thomas and George, and I’ve got a plan.”

“That involves me pleading guilty?” Bells asked. Aaron nodded.

“I… I’m stuck with them,” Aaron said. “Without a good reason to break up I’m stuck because they think they can… they make me… because they know what I do they…”

He lets the ‘emotion’ overwhelm him again, and Bells’ hands squeeze his tight. “Aaron, love, it’s okay, it’s alright.” Aaron shook his head.

“It’s not alright but, I know how to stop it.” Aaron looked up at Bells. “The only way out is admitting to my own crimes and getting put in jail. That’s the only place they won’t follow.”

Sudden understanding floods Bells’ face. “So if I plead guilty, I’ll already be in jail waiting for you.”

Aaron nodded. “We don’t need to be on the outside to be together,” he said. “We could even be cellmates and live together again.”

Bells’ grin returned in full force. “Aaron, I…” and then he suddenly stopped. “I’ve got a better idea.”

A cold pit of fear settled in Aaron’s stomach. “What?”

“Say I don’t plead guilty. Say you get me off these charges and then we kill Thomas and George together! So we don’t have to live in jail and we can just be us and free and -”

Aaron shook his head, “No, Bells,” he said, trying to stall. Bells’ frown made every alarm signal ring in Aaron’s head.

“Why not? We could get away with it, I know we cou-”

“I’m tired,” Aaron said. “I don’t want to kill anymore.”

Shock floods Bells. “You don’t…”

“No, I don’t. I just want to live out my life behind bars with you,” Aaron said. He ran his thumbs over the top of Bells’ fingers. “Just plead guilty to the King and Hamilton murders, we’ll let everything settle down and I’ll turn myself in.”

Still Bells hesitated. He looked down at their conjoined hands and took a breath. “Would that make you happy Aaron?” Bells asked. Aaron nodded.

“More than anything,” Aaron said, leaning forward. “We’d have no worries, no need to hide who we are. Just us together, for the rest of our lives.”

Bells took a breath, and then looked up at Aaron. This time his smile was smaller, but gentler. “Okay,” he said. “Okay I’ll do it.”

Aaron leaned even further across the table. “You will?”

Bells nodded. “I can’t think of anything better than the rest of my life with you, in jail or out.”

Aaron forced the biggest smile across his face. “Thank you Bells, thank you so much. You’ve saved me.”

“Anything for you,” Bells breathed, leaning far enough over the table so their foreheads touched. Aaron let the contact linger for just as long as he felt was necessary to keep Bells from feeling jilted when he finally pulled back.

“Turn in your plea tomorrow, and I’ll join you after everything calms down,” Aaron said. Bells nodded again.

“I’ll see you on the inside,” Bells said with a smile. But when Aaron went to pull back, Bells didn’t let go of his hands. “Just a minute longer,” Bells said. “If I have to wait for you, just a minute longer.” Aaron pushed down any sense of dread and nodded. He made himself sit there for as long as possible, fighting the urge to squirm away.

Finally, when he could no longer take it, he pulled his hands away and pushed his chair away from the table. It was the sudden sharpness in Bells’ gaze that had Aaron walking around the table to press his lips to Bells’ cheek - a soft touch, seemingly angled to appear like a whispered good bye rather than the physical affection it was.

As much as Aaron was burning the wipe himself down with bleach, he mirrored Bells’ bright smile as he finally put the much-needed distance between them. When the door shut behind him, Aaron almost felt like collapsing.

He needed to get home to George and Thomas, take a long shower, and fall asleep in their arms.

\-------------

Jonathan Bellamy pleaded guilty to two counts of murder on June 17th, 2017 and received life in prison. The judge supposedly offered less time for Bells’ confessions regarding any other crime, but Bells turned it down.

“I’m okay with spending my life behind bars,” Bells said when the judge warned him what he was getting into. “I know I’ll be alright.”

“Life in prison is no easy life Mr. Bellamy,” the judge said. Bells just grinned up at him.

“I think I’ll make it work.”

Aaron caught the giddy look Bells shot him as the bailiffs ushered Bells away, back to jail. Aaron gave him the slightest smile back, and then he was gone.

That night, George made Thomas and Aaron dinner, they watched a movie on the couch and went to bed without sparing a single word or thought to the fate of Jonathan Bellamy.

And for the first time since they moved in together, everything was fine.


	22. Aaron Burr

Everything was fine for a total of two years, three months and sixteen days.

Something must have happened at work, something that made Thomas just the wrong amount of tired, stressed and angry. And something about Aaron coming home once again covered in blood just before dinner - because he killed before dinner now, George insisted on them all having a nice meal and spending the evening together - must have pressed just the wrong button in Thomas.

“Welcome home love,” George called from the kitchen as Aaron dropped his knife bag on the counter to be washed. They had a special rubber mat for them now to protect the nice countertops after Aaron had to spend hours cleaning bloodstains from it once.

“Welcome home,” Thomas repeated, almost mockingly. “How was murdering?”

Aaron sighed. Every once in awhile either Thomas or George would get a little testy over his hobby but it usually just took an evening of wine to calm them all down. “It was fine,” Aaron said. “I think I’m finally used to the new ritual.”

He’d had to stop the whole ‘carving up the face’ thing after Bells went to jail, had to act as if he was an entirely new killer. It had been hard to change the impulse to reach up and carve a smile into his victim’s faces, but he could take out his frustration by just going to town on the chests of his victims. He thought tonight’s victim had sustained about thirteen stabs between the ribs, but maybe his count was off. It often was on the low side.

“How wonderful,” Thomas drawled from where he sat on the living room couch.

George turned away from the stove to face Aaron and said, voice low, “don’t worry about him, he’s just grouchy.”

“Right,” Aaron said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Pad thai,” George said, still bent over the stove. “Thomas was feeling asian.”

He hadn’t had pad thai in years. “Smells delicious,” Aaron said. He walked over and went up on his toes to press a kiss to George’s cheek. “I’ll go try to talk to Thomas.”

“Good luck.”

Thomas’ arms were crossed over his chest, and as Aaron approached, Thomas turned his head away to look out the window.

Aaron sighed as he sat down. “How was your day?” he asked.

Thomas didn’t turn to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he tried again.

“Sometimes,” Thomas started, still not looking at him. “I wonder why you still do this, you’re still out there taking people’s lives and come here, smiling and covered in blood, as if you just left an invigorating discussion at your book club.”

“We’ve gone over this-”

“I _know_ we’ve gone over this,” Thomas said, voice rising. “And every time you say the same thing! Do you understand how much I’ve had to go through personally in order to accept this?! Accept you?!”

It always hurt, to hear those words. Something sharp ran through Aaron’s chest and he took in a deep breath, knowing he had to keep calm. “Thomas,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “This has hardly been...easy...for any of us. But we have each other, and as long as we support one another, we’ll be okay. If you don’t want to talk to me about this, that’s fine. You have George, you have Lafayette and Angelica. They all know, you don’t need to keep this bottled up inside of you like this.”

Thomas clenched his jaw. “Don’t talk to me like you’re my fucking therapist, Aaron!” he said. “You’re the cause for all of this!”

Aaron reached forward and wrapped his hand around Thomas'. A tension-filled moment passed before Thomas melted and hunched forward, squeezing Aaron’s hand tight enough it had Aaron concerned for his circulation.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered. “You know I don’t mean it.”

“Yes you do,” Aaron said.

Thomas looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

“It’s simply an observation,” Aaron said, voice still steady.

George cleared his throat from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready,” he called out. “Thomas, can you choose a wine?”

“Wine barely goes with pad thai,” Thomas called back.

George chuckled. “Figure it out, you always do.”

Thomas pulled his hand away from Aaron’s and moved to stand up. “I don’t mean to get like this,” he said. “It’s just...sometimes…”

“I understand,” Aaron offered. “It’s hard.”

Thomas gave a sharp nod and walked toward the wine cooler, taking much more time than needed to examine the contents that Aaron knew Thomas had memorized.

Aaron stood up and walked over to the kitchen. “Need any help?” he asked, already reaching for the plates George had out on the counter.”

“Not really,” George answered. “Just getting everything on the table.”

As inconvenient as it had been at first, Aaron had begun to look forward to their dinners. It was the time at the end of the day to relax and catch up, talk about the little things that had happened during their days. It was comfortable, and even when one of them was in a mood of some sort, they rarely let it get the best of them.

Aaron took a sip of the wine that Thomas had selected - a white with a price tag Aaron had no interest in seeing, he was sure - and laughed at something George said. Thomas was quiet, picking at his pad thai without eating much. George reached out and gently took a hold of Thomas’ hand, but he tore it away.

So it was one of Thomas’ guilty moods then. Aaron frowned as George stifled a sigh and sat back into his own chair. The atmosphere instantly fell, and Aaron could see where George was trying to come up with something to say to snap Thomas out of his funk. But George was the last person Thomas needed right now, Aaron knew. He made a mental note to ask Angelica to invite Thomas for drinks soon.

So Aaron reached out, only to have Thomas shrink away from him too. “Thomas, love,” he started. “Is there something you need to talk about?”

Thomas leveled him with a glare. “No.”

“Thomas,” Aaron started again.

“I said no,” Thomas said.

“Whatever it is, we can help,” George broke in and Aaron winced. Thomas flinched.

“No, it’s… nothing, just let it go,” Thomas said. George watched him carefully, stalling for time by taking another bite of food. Thomas fidgeted under Aaron and George’s gazes, tapping his knife against the plate.

“Thomas, we’ve agreed that communication is important,” Aaron started, channeling Lafayette. The man was gone on some business trip so they were on their own if Thomas really wanted to start causing problems.

“Yeah, communication, because we’ve been so good at that,” Thomas drawled. Aaron narrowed his eyes.

“Thomas -”

“God, why couldn’t you have just stopped!” Thomas finally snapped. His hand, closed around the handle of his knife, hit the table, making the dishes and wine glasses jump. “Why did you have to keep killing after killing Alexander?! You could have just… it was over! He was gone and you could have stopped and -”

“I’m sorry,” George broke in, swallowing his mouthful of food, “would you like to backup a moment please?”

Thomas froze, eyes going wide as he processed what he said. Aaron, too, felt glued to his seat. He kept his eyes fixed on Thomas, he couldn’t look over at George. There was a long moment of silence that was broken by George putting his fork down on the table quietly.

“I’m serious Thomas, would you like to explain what you just said.”

\--------------

“And so, Mr. Washington, what caused you to finally turn in Mr. Burr, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Lafayette and Miss. Schuyler?” Asked Edmund Randolph, the US Attorney General. George sighed, hands clasped in his lap as he leaned into the microphone.

“Mr. Burr, under the direction of Miss. Schuyler killed Alexander Hamilton,” George said. “Alexander was like my son, and so they, along with Mr. Jefferson, hid the crime from me.”

Aaron fidgeted in his seat. It was odd watching court proceedings from the defendant’s chair instead of behind the prosecution’s bench. His chest felt tight as he watched George, his boy- no, his _ex-_ boyfriend at this point, rat him out to the jury.

“Who did you believe killed Alexander Hamilton to begin with?”

“Jonathan Bellamy.”

“Who’s currently serving two life sentences for the murders of George King and Alexander Hamilton. Who killed those men?”

Thomas was sitting on his hands, his head hung. He hadn’t looked up at George once.

“Mr. Burr killed Alexander, and… and Mr. Burr and I killed King together.”

Thomas’ breath caught, his eyes went wide and for a moment he glanced up at George. Aaron remembered belatedly that Thomas had never been told that part of the story. But George didn’t look at Thomas. He didn’t look at the defense table at all, just kept his eyes glued to Randolph.

“And how did you discover the truth as to Alexander Hamilton’s murder?”

“Mr. Jefferson admitted it to me in an argument over dinner.”

“And as to Mr. Lafayette’s involvement?”

The first hint of regret flashed across George’s expression, but it was quickly suppressed. Lafayette watched George clear his throat with red-rimmed eyes, hands curled around the edge of the table.

“As far as I’m aware, he had nothing to do with Alexander’s murder. Only with the original Bellamy cover-up plot.”

“And Miss. Schuyler?”

Angelica stared at the wall, still in the same stoic shock she had been in since the arrest.

“She ordered the murder be done, I’ve said.”

“And what is your motive for coming forward now, after almost two years of helping to hide Mr. Burr’s murderous activities?”

George paused, took a long breath, and then said: “For a long time, I managed to… compartmentalize. I thought I loved Mr. Burr and Mr. Jefferson, and so pushed it out of my mind. I simply did not let myself think about it. I couldn’t. And then when I found out the truth of Alexander’s murder I… I was forced to face the facts of what Mr. Burr did and what Mr. Jefferson and I had been complicit in for so long. And I could no longer stomach it.”

If Aaron thought he could make it, he’d cross the courtroom and launch himself over the witness stand. Wrap his hands around George’s throat and end it. End the anxiety plaguing him too. But he kept his seat, forced himself to breathe, and kept the neutral expression on his face. The bailiffs would stop him before he got four steps.

The media loved his blank expression anyway. It was quite the headline photo.

\--------------

“So,” Thomas started. “It seems they fixed the heat in this place.” His voice was tight, fingers drumming against the cheap table top of the prison mess hall tables.

“Thank god,” Lafayette muttered, picking at the watery corn in his tray. Aaron let out a sigh, eyeing the open spot between Lafayette and Thomas. If he was fast and squished himself into it-

“Aaron! Aaron, right here! I saved you a seat!”

Aaron stifled his groan - a groan now could get someone hurt - and turned to where Bells sat. He had placed himself so that he sat across the table from Thomas, forcing Aaron next to him and across from Lafayette. He fixed a smile across his face as he took the offered spot.

Instantly, Bells leaned into his side and Aaron felt his skin crawl at the contact. Lafayette’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, but chose to stay silent.

“How did you sleep my dear?” Bells asked, running his hand along Aaron’s arm.

“We share a cell, you know how I slept,” Aaron said, keeping his voice light. Bells nodded.

“I know, but I know you sometimes don’t sleep well on those hard cots,” Bells said. Aaron kept in his sigh.

“I slept fine,” he said. He glanced over at Thomas who was watching Bells carefully, a hint of fear in his eyes. He meant to keep it brief, Aaron knows he has to watch himself when he’s around both Bells and Thomas, but Bells saw it anyway. The short man turned to glare at Thomas.

“There are other seats available,” Bells pointed out, his voice hard. Aaron reached over to grab onto Bells’ arm.

“He’s sitting with us, we’ve been over this,” Aaron said. Bells huffed.

“He made you -”

“He made me do nothing Bells, we’ve been over _that_ too.”

Thomas winced, one hand rubbing his thigh where the scar was. Bells had not been too happy when he discovered Thomas had come with Aaron to prison. That was also how Aaron discovered that sharpened pens could make excellent weapons.

“You know,” Thomas spoke up. “George sold _both_ of us out. I’m literally in the exact same boat as Aaron here.”

Bells sneered. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Now Bells glared at Thomas as he pressed himself into Aaron’s side. Lafayette did the smart thing and focused on his meal tray, lowering his head and spending more time than usual examining his cheap prison food.

Bells opened his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by the prison intercom system crackling to life.

“ _Residents of cell block C,_ ” came the voice of the prison warden, “ _it has come to our attention that a member of your block died last night under unclear circumstances. If any of you have any information regarding the death of Jeremiah Lanely, please come forward. Any prisoner who provides us with credible, relevant information will have it noted on their records and it may be used during parole hearings. That is all._ ”

Thomas snorted. “‘Parole.’ Like that helps us any.”

Aaron frowned. “It could help Lafayette.”

“If you honestly believe I could ever receive parole,” Lafayette said, “think again my friend.”

“You’re the only one with the possibility,” Thomas pointed out. “Not even Angelica received the opportunity to apply for parole.”

Lafayette looked at Thomas. “I highly doubt I’d receive it. You are the lawyer here, no? Tell me, do you think that the accomplice to a serial killer could ever receive parole on their life sentence?”

Thomas fell silent the same moment Bells sat up with a gasp. “Aaron!” he said. “You slept well!”

Aaron nodded. “That is what I said, yes,” he said, stomach already sinking. Bells’ face lit up.

“I’m so proud of you!” Bells exclaimed. “Killing and getting away with it in prison!”

Instantly both Thomas’ and Lafayette’s gazes snapped towards Aaron. Aaron shrugged. “Say it a bit louder, why not?”

Thomas dropped his head onto the table. “Oh my god. I was wondering why you were so calm today.”

Aaron shrugged again. “Pens aren’t the best stabbing utensils, but they are stress relieving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight edit because we accidentally posted the draft of this chapter, not the final! Sorry folks, but we hope you enjoyed The Murder Monologues! ~Karli and Parker

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you like it! 
> 
> Please feel free to come pester us at our tumblrs: [theinevitablesense](http://theinevitablesense.tumblr.com) and [ashilrak](http://ashilrak.tumblr.com) :^)
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


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